Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Foreboding

Eönwë's bliss is shadowed by foresight. What will prevail: fate or free will?

 

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17. Foreboding

Kiinlúum, Year 436 of the Second Age of Arda

One yén, and two more after the first one, had come and gone surprisingly fast at Mairon’s side since I first arrived at Kiinlúum and he had invited me to stay [1].

Long gone were the days when I had searched for deceit in every word he spoke and suspected evil intentions behind his every deed. I had learnt to trust him, and my yearning for him, dating back to our earliest times in Eä, had been fulfilled beyond my wildest desires. I seldom missed freedom from the hindrance of my flesh any more, after learning to appreciate my hröa as a source of much joy.

At his side, my banishment in Endórë had turned into bliss, and I no longer wished for the end of my sentence, however many years were left.

Around us, generations of short-lived Atani were born and died. Like tree leaves through the seasons, they grew, waned and fell, and with their coming and leaving, the shape and hue of our world changed slowly, though some things seemed immutable. Through our gentle steering, Kiinlúum had grown in power and prominence over its neighbours, and prosperity and peace never faltered. Whispers of legend were wreathed around us, making us benevolent envoys of the Sun-god himself, immortal and wise, sent to protect and guide, but not rule, in reward for the faith of the people of Kiinlúum and the fairness of their kings. Had we attempted to dispel this notion, we would not have been believed.

Mairon’s counsel and my own had been regarded reverently by the kings that had succeeded Chakmóol and Sakxikin in an unbroken line from father to son. Our advice was prized far above the vague and ambiguous auguries of the sacred sooth-sayers of the Sun-god himself. Until Chimal, the present ahaw and Chakmóol’s great-grandson through fourteen generations, ascended to the throne of Kiinlúum at the untimely death of his father. Unlike his predecessors, Chimal never entered into the ritual of submission that Chakmóol had initiated, the gesture that sealed the unspoken allegiance between the god-king of Kiinlúum and the mighty Yúum Síihbalóob.

And yet, at first Chimal had behaved no differently from his forefathers, at least in appearance. But as soon as he gained confidence in his position as a divinity, it became clear to all that he would rather listen to flattery over truth or sense, and that ambition and the promise of wealth or pleasure alone ruled his actions. 

Only three years into Chimal’s reign, as if to test his ability to govern, the villages along the northern fringe of the realm began to be harried by recurring raids, instigated by the intractable fief lords across the border, who seemed uncommonly keen on threats and aggression.

One day, the  arrival of yet another disturbing report of farmsteads and crops burnt, of men tortured and slain, and of women and children stolen to be sold into slavery in Xamanlúum [2] had provoked a wrathful outcry at Chimal’s council, loud enough to make my head pound achingly. But it had been the desecration of the Sun temple and the cruel slaying of the holy men who tended it that had sent the large majority of the assembly into a paroxism of fanatic zeal, bent on bloodthirsty revenge. My advice for diplomacy had fallen on deaf ears, as had the warnings for caution spoken by some of Chimal’s older advisors, who had previously ruled at his father’s side. For the first time in centuries, the ahaw was considering calling war on another realm, goaded by excited warmongers and irate priests.

I walked home dismayed and angry. Entering my room, I dropped myself wearily on the bed. For a while I stared at the ceiling and sieved through my troubled mind. At last, a bit calmer, I sat up.

My eyes came to rest on the brittle cover of the book on Númenórë I had once given Nikteháa, which I kept as the crumbling reminder of our love. Over the years, I had seen death in many guises, but I could never grow used to the grief of losing a dear friend. I wondered if Elerossë was still alive, if his dreams of happiness in Andórë [3] had become truth.

Some unease within me kept drawing my thoughts towards mortality and loss. To dispel my melancholy, I forced myself to go for a hard ride in the hills. The speed and freedom of galloping across the highland plains were only a pale reflection of riding the wind itself, but they were nevertheless exhilarating, and helped me clear my mind from dark musings.

When I returned home, my mood was far improved. I dismissed the stable hands and took care of my horse. I gave him food and water, and after grooming and petting him, I climbed the staircase two steps at a time to enjoy a warm bath and a change of clothes before seeking Mairon in his workshop.

As soon as he saw me, he set aside his work. Having long exhausted his patience with Chimal, he had not graced the council with his presence on this occasion, though he covertly kept a lively but discreet converse with other courtiers who seemed to share our frustration. He questioned me avidly about the events of the day, asking abundant questions and listening gravely to my account, before losing himself in thought for a long while.

‘As you know, at dawn tomorrow I am travelling to the old marble quarry,’ he said at last. ‘We are running out of decent stone, and it may be worth restarting work there again. Come with me.’

His tone of command irked me.

‘Not this time, Mairon. I am busy,’ I argued, crossing my arms over my chest, prepared for confrontation. ‘The king needs…’

‘I care nothing for what Chimal may need, Eönwë,’ he snapped, eyes narrowed in disdain. ‘You just said he ignored your every word today. Let him wait to show him your displeasure. Make yourself ready to stay away for a night or two.’

‘Are you presuming to order me about, on a night when you are not Master?’ I retorted boldly, somewhat irritated.

‘That can still be arranged,‘ he answered in a voice that stirred my loins with its promise of danger, ‘but I deem it unnecessary.’

His eyebrows rose in mock disapproval when I uttered my lord's name in an unrepeatable profanity, and he waved me towards the house, where our dinner awaited. Ravenous after the ride, I considered the assortment of dishes on the table. I set myself to devour the delicious food, ignoring Mairon's provocative smirk, and only when my hunger was satisfied did I again attempt to decline joining him in his trip. He thwarted me at once.

‘There are matters I would talk to you about, Eönwë. I am fretting in this stifling city.’ His deep frown and the urgency in his words made me uneasy.

‘I will come, then.’

‘Good.’ His lips curved slowly, in the inviting, playful smile that never failed to melt my insides. ‘Now, my beauty, I can think of several pleasant ways to distract our minds this evening...’

The tips of his fingers traced my jawline down to my neck, then moved to my shoulder, and drew a sinuous line down my arm to my wrist. I began to yield to my desire. Suddenly, he snatched from my unsuspecting fingers the almond sweet I was about to take to my mouth, and held it beyond my reach, taunting me.

With a loud war cry, I jumped on him to retrieve my stolen treasure. I knew my efforts would be met with defeat but, nevertheless, I was confident to gain something in return.

 

At dawn the following morning the two of us, alone, rode out of the city. Soon we left the green valley hugging the river and headed west, climbing the winding road up to the highlands. Very few trees grew in this area; instead, low bristly bushes and endless expanses of heather covered the ground beyond the road. We would sometimes race, to add some thrill to an otherwise unremarkable journey, and I basked in the glow of several tight victories over Mairon, who took his defeats rather gallantly.

Later, we doubled back eastwards along the steep edge of the plains. By the end of the afternoon, we came to the brink of a sheer rocky outcrop, and the whole valley suddenly unfurled before us like a huge tapestry, a long way below where we stood. In the distance, the river and the glazed windows of the city glinted like mirrors in the light of the sinking sun, and I was reminded of my arrival in Kiinlúum.

‘Behold our realm, Eönwë,’ said Mairon, after admiring the view for a while.

‘Ours, Mairon? I thought it belonged to the ahaw and his people,’ I replied with a smile, and he waved his hand impatiently.

‘Indeed. Yet it has been our patient rule in the shadow that has brought them wealth and peace,’ he retorted. Then he frowned. ‘Until now, that is. I fear our little Chimal may destroy what we have crafted, Eönwë, if we let him.’

I sucked in my breath at the savage tone with which he spoke these last words.

‘This is not the first time that our discussions have led us down treasonous paths lately, but speaking in our own tongue assures our safety against prying ears. So, why did you bring me here, Mairon?’

‘Treason is a certainty waiting to happen, given the lack of wit of our ahaw!’ he replied. ‘Only a man who will not cease his rutting unless a gold trinket is dangled in front of his eyes can fall for the crude charms of that scheming courtesan from Xaman, and wed her against the advice of the entire council. Why, even his inept cronies failed to stop him!’

‘At least Lotiya has given him an heir, while his two other wives have not,’ I argued. ‘And her young brother Ajyin has sworn allegiance to Chimal and joined his warriors.’

‘Our newest queen’s forked tongue is already hissing pretty lies into the fawning ears that swarm around her vying for attention. She pursues her own ends to become the true ruler while our Chimal buries his face between her legs and remains blind to her guiles and schemes, and oblivious to the woes of his realm,’ sneered Mairon. ‘Some of which she may be weaving herself...’

‘I have recently wondered if her arrival last spring and the shadow of war were related,’ I ventured, thoughtfully. ‘She gained much sympathy through her pitiful story of young, helpless siblings sold into slavery when their father fell in disgrace in Xaman, and she has often voiced undying hatred against those who made them destitute and now govern her land of birth. I have wished to believe it and yet... something does not ring true. Can you prove that she is a spy?’

Mairon had a wide network of informers, so that little happened in Kiinlúum  of which he was unaware.

‘Regrettably, my men have corroborated her tale and so far uncovered no proof of any wrongdoing, but I do not despair of acquiring it soon, if any is there to be found. The favour of Yúum Síihbalóob is still regarded above that of all others in this realm, despite our ahaw and his latest pet.’ He shrugged when I smiled at his assessment, spoken without a trace of arrogance. ‘A few of Chimal’s most loyal servants keep me appraised of all, including the most trivial gossip in his household, amongst which fascinating nuggets of information can sometimes be mined.’ 

‘You spy on the king in his own house?’ I cried.

‘I merely pay to know what careless lips speak aloud, Eönwë. In our hands is the power to prevent a disaster, before Kiinlúum is handed on a platter to her enemies to be torn into pieces.’ I was startled by the menace in his voice, and by the steel of his glare. ‘I will not suffer being ruled by the whim of a cheap enchantress or by whoever sent her to wreak discord.’

He turned his gaze to the wide view before us. His brow was furrowed by deep thought, worry or both.

‘Something is stirring. Storm clouds are gathering beyond our grasp, Eönwë, I can feel them,’ he pronounced, his mien stern. ‘I can sense the change in the chords of the Music, and I recall how they unfold. I fear our precious ahaw and his pretty concubine may just be pawns in a much larger game.’

I shivered, unable to disregard what his instinct told him.

At that time, the sun sank below the horizon with a last flash of golden light. Mairon turned his  horse away from the sheer ridge, and we left the darkening realm at our backs, heading for the quarry.

Questions and doubts raced and stumbled in my mind, but when I made an attempt to voice them, Mairon cantered ahead, barring conversation.

We soon reached our destination.  On a grassy meadow near the shadow of the man-made cliff, amongst discarded cyclopean stone blocks that shimmered in the pearly starlight, we made our simple camp that night under the bejewelled sky, as we had brought no tents. We lay together, in silence. The night was balmy but, in Mairon’s arms, I once felt him shiver.

The morning sun did not dissolve my unease though Mairon made me forget it for a while. I awoke to light on my face and a hard pressure against my back. Not the lumpy ground, because we had built ourselves a comfortable bed of heather, covered by a fur blanket.

‘Threatening me with a blade in my sleep, Mairon?’ I slurred, turning to face him. ‘Too lowly a conspiracy, even for you.’

‘Lowly, Eönwë?’ he answered with a sly smile, rising to his knees before me. ‘You slander me. I hide no weapon, see?’

Indeed I saw. Mairon lifted his hands, palms out, so that the cloak that covered him slipped from his chest, to reveal his glorious nakedness. The uncut emerald I had once given him rested on his muscled chest, suspended from his neck by a fine mistarillë chain that drew my gaze down. A surge of scalding desire urged me to worship him, and we fell back in a tangle onto the fragrant heather.

‘Are we going back to the city?’ I asked later, while we broke our fast next to a small fire. 

‘Not yet. I must survey the site and chisel out some samples. Let us stay another night.’

‘Very well.’ I leant down to kiss him. ‘Maybe we can take advantage of being in such a remote place, can we not?’

‘Indeed, friend.’ He scanned the location and when his eyes met mine, they were full of mischief. ‘How about a visit to Thangorodrim at sunset, my fair Nelyafinwë? ’

A delightful tremor of fearful excitement and renewed arousal shook me, dispelling vague qualms about our travesty of true torment.

’Did you bring a band of steel that no blade can sever, Moringotto?’ I retorted.

He rose to search for something in his saddlebag. I held my breath when I heard a faint tinkle as he raised his arm. In his hand gleamed one of my wrist cuffs, linked to a short chain.

‘You had plans, I see.’ My knees trembled and my loins throbbed. ‘And how about Findekáno’s harp?’

‘Nay, I shall have to improvise about the eagle, too.’ His laughter was like a rain of silver echoing in the stone. ‘But fear not, Maitimo, I keep my sword sharp...’

 

~ o ~

 

The following morning we awoke well after dawn, snuggled in fur like wolf cubs. I ached all over and my right arm felt as if though it might fall off my shoulder at any time. But my memory of pleasure overrode my hröa’s discomfort, and even lightened the anxiety that still weighed upon my mind ever since Mairon had hinted at a looming danger.

So far, he had deflected all my efforts to pry more information about the nature of whatever threat he suspected, concentrating his full attention instead on the tasks he had set himself in the quarry, and ignoring my growing irritation. In the end, I gave up pleading for answers, sensing that he would tackle the matter before we returned to the city.

After he stoked the fire, Mairon sat idly, twirling a long twig in his hands. Then he used it to torment a line of ants scurrying busily at his feet. For a while, his eyes studied the flurry of excitement provoked when he scratched lines across their path to bar their progress, or pushed sand into little mounds before them to make them change direction. I watched him play, mesmerised.

At last he dropped the twig, causing chaos, and came to sit closer to me. Ever the craftsman, he picked up several reeds and began to braid them into a convoluted pattern. Soon, he offered me a star with nine points.

‘I have no gift for you, Mairon. And yet today marks three yéni to the day since I knocked on your door.’

Instead of answering, he tickled my throat with a spare piece of straw. I slapped it away several times, until he lay down on the grass with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. In later, darker times, I often recalled the serenity of this scene shining forth like a Silmaril buried in the blackest pit of Utumno.

Mairon looked the picture of contentment, unguarded and at peace. I watched him for a long time, from his high forehead to his dark eyebrows, not unlike bold lúvar [4] inked on his flawless skin, to the long curved eyelashes, and the straight nose. My gaze lingered on his lips, full and now at rest. Only last night I had known their insatiable hunger, their touch, soft and harsh, on every corner of my skin. I shivered at the memory of the delights they could bestow. Unable to resist his beauty or my renewed lust, I sat over his hips, and playfully pinned his arms against the ground. His eyes opened, twinkling, and for an instant I braced myself against his attack, but in the end he indulged me and did not pull away.

‘What you give me, Eönwë, is worth more than the whole of this little realm, this playground in which we amuse ourselves to while away the Ages. Anything I ask of you, you are willing to grant me. That is a kingly gift.’

‘A playground, you say. Do you miss Angamando, my wicked dark lord?’ I queried.

‘No.’ His answer was firm, his eyes sincere.

I released his arms and kissed him. He raised his fingers to my cheek.

‘I take pleasure in this simple life, friend. Order and peace reward my labours, and the penance for the ills I once wrought has brought me all but hardship. Can I be blamed for earning wealth and respect?’ His lips curled into a crooked, most alluring smile. ‘And, free from the trappings that plague all rulers, I enjoy my craft, indulge in harmless pastimes and you, my beauty, sate my dark desires and keep them leashed.’

He grasped my wrists and nibbled my fingers, one by one, slowly, sensually. I almost forgot to breathe.

‘Is there nothing you wish for?’ I asked at length, striving to keep the thread of my questioning despite his efforts to distract me.

‘Naught of import, Eönwë, except for setting our little ahaw back onto the right path before he causes some harm.’

‘Does it mean you are free?’ I whispered. ‘From... him?’

His eyes hardened immediately and he sat up, all playfulness gone.

‘You and I sang the Music. Were you too busy mimicking your lord’s chorus to pay attention to its progression? I watched, nay, sensed the first theme evolve inside and around me, I felt the dissonance Melkor introduced. I sang my own tune at first, until his dark, strident crescendo overwhelmed me and my voice broke under the force of his braying onslaught. And when Eru began his new themes, I was wary and listened, studying how each of our melodies was threaded into the whole, before I dared join again. Melkor’s discordant notes were still there, in the subtle distortion of my own and of those sung by many others who were later deemed fair and virtuous.’

As his shrewd eyes pierced me, a chill ran down my spine. My most shameful secret raised its head from where I had buried it long ago in the vain hope that tireless service and devotion to Manwë would cause it to vanish. My uneasiness must have spoken the confirmation Mairon sought, because he nodded.

‘Who of those who entered Eä can claim to be wholly free from Melkor’s dissonance, when it touched every thought and was woven into Time and light themselves along with all our other chords, as Eru gave them being?’ Mairon paused while I considered his logic, then he shrugged. ‘Beyond that, I wish to believe I am free. When your host defeated Melkor, I vowed never to bind myself to another lord, be he fair or evil. Not out of remorse, but of desire to rule my own fate at last. I shall not be perpetually chained to Melkor’s will against my own, not even if the Music may ordain it.’

His breath had quickened, his hands were clenched upon his knees, white knuckles straining from the force pent within him. I placed my hand on his shoulder in reassurance, but before I could shape any words, he continued.

‘Your lord works to fulfil fate, the vision that Ilúvatar showed us, while I shall ever fight it because... I fear that one day hatred may be rekindled in my heart, dark flames that I would rather leave dead.’ His voice was bitter, his eyes seemed to stare through me at something that was before him and yet not there, his hands loosened once more.

Icy tendrils of unease crawled under my skin; somehow I was certain that he spoke with the perilous truth of foresight, of a doom that might be.

‘Surely, that is not Eru’s design!’ I cried, distressed. ‘Although we were born of his thought, we are not his slaves, or the Music’s.’

‘Maybe not.’ He smiled weakly, free from whatever vision he had been caught into, and squeezed my hands in his. ‘Maybe it is nothing worse than Melkor’s angry shadow that darkens my thoughts. Will you say that I have proved my repentance?’

‘I will,’ I answered fervently. ‘And I shall speak for you in Aman, when at last you choose to return.’

‘After what happened when Melkor was released from Mandos, those beyond the sea will never trust me to be free, not even if you vouch for me. Thus my contrition is worthless in their eyes, and redemption unattainable.’

I was about to protest, but he put a finger on my lips.

‘They always knew you would fail in your task, Eönwë.’

‘But you once said “not yet”, as though maybe one day...’

My argument died unspoken. I was well aware of what judgement would be, in all likelihood, meted upon him in the Ring of Doom. Once I would have accepted it as necessary and just, but not any more.

‘I shall not return to see you imprisoned in Mandos or thrown into the Void!’

I was startled to see him shudder, but he regained his aplomb within a heartbeat.

‘Oh, but you shall return, and one day you may stand by your lord’s side again, friend.’ His chuckle was bitter. ‘After all, I suspect you have granted him a victory.’

‘How so, Mairon?’

‘Chakmóol told you once. Where my armour was once perfect, it is now flawed. You became the unknowing pawn of the Valar, my beauty, and I foolishly fell for your sorcery. If they strike at you, they will wound me.’

My gorge rose, as when Mairon used to goad me long ago, but this time my rage was not directed against him. He wrapped me in his arms, and I leant against him, burying my face in his hair, warm from the sun. My gloom lifted, but only a little.

‘Perhaps it is you, Eönwë, who stays their hand now, like a charm that protects me from their wrath,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘But one day the respite may be over, when Manwë decides that it is time for the Music to change its key.’

After a hesitation he added, ‘I fear that day may come soon, friend.’

‘How do you know?’ I cried.

‘Of late, I have felt several times the slight shifts and pulls in the weave of Eä that betray the  unclad presence of at least one of our kind. Here in the open, away from a bustling crowd of fëar, I have been able to extend my senses further, but I found nothing. Whoever it was, they have gone away.’

‘No!’ I gasped, but I knew better than to disregard the signs he had read, which I would have detected as well, had I not been locked in my hröa. My heart shrank at the cold fire that burned in Mairon’s eyes.

‘Tell me, friend, why would our kin covertly visit this remote part of Arda, if not to spy on us?’ he spat in contempt.

‘You believe that the unrest in Xaman, and even Lotiya’s machinations are the result of their visit,’ I exclaimed, dismayed. ‘But how can it be? Manwë has forbidden any meddling with the affairs of the Children, even less to the extreme of inciting a realm to war against an innocent neighbour.’

Mairon’s silence was so loud that I argued more desperately, clutching at straws.

‘They would have declared themselves and their mission to the Atani, and rumour would have surely reached our ears...’

I was trying to fool myself. Suddenly, Mairon smiled, without mirth.

‘When the day comes, will you betray me, O Herald, to earn your lord’s favour back?’

Shocked, I jerked free of his embrace and while his question floated awkwardly between us, I looked deep into his eyes. They were bright with defiance and rage, but held no hardness against me, and no demand. I shook my head, confused.

‘Forgive my crassness,’ he murmured, drawing me into his arms again. ‘Let us enjoy the pretence of being ants scuttling in the sand, oblivious of the gods, until a foot comes down to stamp our nest. They may stir a scorpion’s nest, and its bite can fell a mighty warrior.’

His lips caressed mine, and I returned the kiss fiercely. Our lovemaking was desperate, bruising, over the bed of heather.

Bitter choices may lie ahead, but not yet. Not yet.

 

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Notes:

 

[1] yén (Quenya), plural yéni. Long-year of the Elves, equivalent to 144 of our years.

[2] Xaman (Yucatec) North; Xamanlúum can be translated as “Land of the North”.

[3] Andórë (Quenya) Land of Gift, another name of Númenor.

[4] lúva (Quenya, plural lúvar) the bow or curves of tengwar script.