Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Warnings

The years go by, Eönwë receives a present and Mairon another alias!

 

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10. Warnings

 

One day, three years after our first memorable night of trust and discovery, Mairon ordered that I attended him at his chambers, and not in the gloomy room below his workshop. Instead of plunging immediately into the ritual that converted us into master and servant, he put a heavy, carved wooden box in my hands.

‘Open it,’ he bid me.

I eagerly did, gnawed by curiosity. Inside, cradled in silk, I found a set of restraints forged from the precious metal the First-born call mistarillë[1]. I had never seen its starry sheen in this far corner of the world, and knew it was most rare anywhere else, precious even to Aulë himself.

I ran my fingers slowly over their smooth, perfect shapes, well aware that they were worth far more than a king’s ransom. I looked at Mairon in wonder and robbed a brief kiss from his mouth, curved up in mischief.

Heat rushed to my loins when his thumb traced the edge of my jaw slowly, with infinite care. When our lips parted, I saw the fire of lust blazing in his dark eyes. Breathless, I turned my gaze to my gift, to study it in more detail. I noticed that all the pieces had been etched with a subtle design made of tiny sparks grouped in the shape of a whirlwind; in my view, that mark made them truly mine. I laughed with childish joy even as Mairon sternly commanded me to kneel.

‘You have earned them, my handsome captive,’ he purred in my ear, his breath upon my bare skin titillating my every nerve. He locked the gleaming collar around my neck and kissed me fiercely while I remained still but pliant, as expected. ‘You are my best creation yet.’

I was not sure whether to be flattered, concerned or offended. I could not deny that he had used my carnal prison to mould me in ways I would have scoffed at in the past. But the heat of his lips and tongue made his words fade into meaningless shreds, and I was soon bereft of all coherent thought, struggling to obey his commands and hungering for his demanding attentions.

 

Kiinlúum, Year 25 of the Second Age

The years passed by swiftly.

‘Would I be allowed to travel to Andórë[2]?’ asked Nikteháa dreamily. She sat next to me on a bench in a tucked away corner of the garden in his father’s house, under the cool shade of fragrant honeysuckle, a quiet respite from the grand feast in her honour. Her black eyes shone with excitement as they looked up from the detailed map unfolded over her knees.

For her sixteenth birthday, I had given her a book written in Quenya, which she could speak and read fluently. I had written it, filled it with colourful illustrations and bound it in red leather. Its pages described in great detail the wonders of Númenórë, from the majestic peak of Meneltarma to the endless green pastures and the beautiful malinornë saplings.

‘I am certain that Tar-Minyatur would be honoured to receive you as his guest,’ I answered.

Elerossë had once told me of his ambitions and dreams for the star-shaped island, and revealed to me the name he would adopt when he ascended to the throne. He had refused to be crowned until they reached their Land of Gift. Would he be king already? If there was one thing I missed in this remote realm, it was news from him and his people, whom I had loved for their vibrancy and strength, mirrored here in the folk of Kiinlúum.

‘Will you take me there?’ Nikteháa almost pleaded in her eagerness.

‘My flower, you know that is not possible.’ I regretted having to crush her dreams. ‘The ahaw will never let his precious princess, the jewel of his heart, face the perils of the journey, not even if a thousand of his fiercest warriors were to guard her.’

‘Not even if I become your wife?’ she ventured shyly. She picked the white blossom that adorned her ebony hair and twirled it nervously in her fingers.

I sighed inwardly. Fortunately, the question had not caught me completely by surprise. I had noted how she had recently begun to blush in my presence, how at times she became tongue-tied, when she had always been keen to chatter her thoughts to me.

Before I could formulate a sensible answer, she pressed on.

‘Now that I am of age my mother is urging me to choose a husband, but I wish for no other than you. Only your company brings me joy, only your voice can spark my interest. Would you not accept me and teach me the art of love, as you have taught me all else I know?’

‘My dear princess, you are beautiful in all ways, but I love you like a father loves his daughter.’

‘Do you not wish to touch me as a wife, even if your heart belongs to “An-na-tar”? You would not have to leave him…’ she pleaded. I gasped, startled that she knew.

‘I am unable to give you what you desire, Nikteháa.’ I shook my head, guilty at the deep disappointment written on her face. ‘I am sorry.’

For a while, she remained seated, nestled against my shoulder, and I felt her tremble. When her friends and maids called her from the house, she rose and slipped quietly between the bushes.

I stayed behind, unwilling to join the merriment, which would feel like a farce. For once, I heard Mairon’s approach before I saw him; his feet beat a light crunching rhythm on the gravel path. I caught my breath at the sight of my friend clad in rich festive garb, and wearing a circlet woven of curling silver tendrils set with magnificent opals that sparkled like green fire. He smiled when he saw me, came to sit next to me on the bench and took the flower I held in my hand.

‘Did she like your gift?’

I nodded absently.

‘So, what caused our sweet princess to look so forlorn?’

‘She wished to make me her husband.’ He lifted his eyebrow questioningly, genuinely curious. ‘I declined her offer.’

‘Truly?’ He could not wholly hide his surprise, almost disbelief. ‘You refused the king’s daughter, the fairest maiden in the realm? Why?’

‘Because I belong to another whom she named Annatar, even if he will not give himself in return.’ I stared back at him defiantly.

‘Chasing mirages only leads to regret, friend, as you know,’ he snapped angrily, looking away. ‘Go back to Nikteháa and grant her little wish. Her spark of life will die in a few years and you will be free from all bonds again.’

‘As you will from yours. One day.’

I placed my hand on his arm, a reminder of my vow. When he turned his head to me, I almost recoiled at the painful terror that haunted his eyes. A blink later, it was gone, as if his mask of equanimity had never slipped. I had not expected to catch him off guard.

He cleared his throat. ‘What did you say she called me?’

‘Annatar.’

‘It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

 

 ~o~

 

A few days later, after the audiences had finished at court, Nikteháa, Mairon and I sat in the garden again.

Strangely, the princess had been most insistent about drawing Mairon into our company, and he had resignedly relented, after she had dismissed his excuses. Over the previous days she had behaved towards me as if her proposal and my refusal had never been spoken.

Just as we had sat down under the cool shade of a tree, we espied two men, coming through a small doorway hewn in the wall at the far end of the garden. They were dressed in long white robes with red sashes around their waists. One carried a bulky pack, holding it with great reverence, while the second one locked the heavy wooden door with a golden key that he then placed safely in a pouch hanging from his neck.

‘Who are those men?’ I asked. ‘They look like priests of the sun, if not for the red cloths.’

In Kiinlúum, red was worn during rituals following death, and corpses were wrapped in red cloth before placing them on the cremation pyre.

‘Yes, they are sak’k’áak’[3] gatherers,’ said the princess. ‘Today it is a propitious day to cut the plants, according to my father. It only happens twice a year.’

I watched the two men walk solemnly away carrying their precious harvest until they vanished from sight behind some trees. The princess seemed lost in thought as she quickly brought her fingers to her forehead and then her mouth in the customary sign to ward off evil.

‘Is anything wrong, my flower?’ I asked, concerned.

‘I once touched a sak'k'áak' plant,’ whispered Nikteháa hesitantly. ‘Several years ago, I was visiting my mother’s kin and my cousins dared me when we found it along a ditch near their house. They said that because I was the ahaw’s daughter it would not kill me, and might even make me deathless.’

‘Clearly they were right about the first part, at the least,’ opined Mairon.

‘What happened?’ I encouraged her, while I shot a warning glare at my friend.

‘My cousins were terrified when they saw my skin swollen with rash, but they had enough wits to take me to my mother at once, who urged the priests to make offerings to save my life. My hand was horrendously painful for several days, and I boiled with fever. When I was healed I purified myself for ten days before I could touch anyone. And then…, then I had to appear before my father, who spoke my penance.’ She bit her lip and shook her head, as if to dispel a nasty memory.

‘Why, is it a crime to touch a poisonous weed?’ I asked, fascinated by this new scrap of knowledge about these peoples’ superstitious beliefs.

‘I committed a gross sacrilege,’ she answered with a shiver, but almost at once she pulled herself up proudly. ‘Neither of you Bright Ones may understand the gravity of my offence; in fact, having lived amongst the great gods of the West you are likely to regard our rites as little better than children’s games, are you not?’

Caught off guard, I lowered my eyes, unable to speak a falsehood to deny her accurate insight. A very uncomfortable silence followed. Mairon was beginning to stand when Nikteháa spoke again.

‘Please stay, Yúum Síihbalóob,’ said the princess. My friend took his seat again, recognising her words as an order. Then she turned to me.

‘I finished reading the book you gave me, Eönwë. It truly is a precious gift.’ I was relieved that she had generously changed the subject.

‘Crafting it gave me great pleasure, and I am happy it has found a good owner, Nikteháa,’ I replied, glad at her sincere appreciation.

‘One thing puzzles me, though,’ she continued. ‘It describes the Land of Gift, but says nothing about the people who live in it.’

She tilted her head, a gesture she did to listen attentively.

‘I am not certain Elerossë and his people have crossed the sea yet,’ I answered. ‘They had a lot to do to ready themselves before they could leave Endórë to settle there.’

‘But that means they will be old or even die before they get to see it!’ she cried.

Smiling, I shook me head. ‘No, they will not. The Valar have granted them a longer life than that of other mortals, about thrice the normal lifespan of Men.’

‘Why?’ came her immediate query.

Mairon huffed loudly.

‘Because they helped the Valar defeat the Black Foe, instead of being seduced by him,’ I answered, ignoring his annoyance.

‘My grandfather could have committed Kiinlúum to war, but he chose not to, despite the messengers that forebode doom if we did not follow the Mighty One. Are we undeserving of the gods’ blessing, when we were loyal to our ruler and our country?’ she queried.

‘Kiinlúum is too far and of little consequence to them,’ growled Mairon.

‘That is not true,’ I protested. ‘It was only those of the Atani who joined ranks with the Hosts of the West that were granted such a reward.’

‘The other men, those who fought along the Mighty One, the one you name Moringotto…,’ argued Nikteháa, ‘how did they know who to follow, who to believe? Maybe they were deceived. Perhaps most followed the command of their kings because they would not be named cowards, or to spare their families from slaughter at the hands of the Bright Ones and their allies if they were conquered. Is it not unfair enough that they suffered as much or more than Elerossë's people?’ she protested earnestly. ‘And what of Kiinlúum, that rejected the Mighty One? Are we lesser people in the eyes of the gods now?’

I was at a loss for answers.

‘The justice of the Valar follows unfathomable rules sometimes,’ snickered Mairon. ‘Their latest gift to the Atani may one day prove to be most unwise.’

‘How so?’ I queried, incredulous.

‘Those who did not benefit from such a boon will inevitably be envious of those who did; and those apparently blessed may be grateful at first, but one day they are bound to question why they were given thrice the lifespan of other mortals and not twelve times, or thirty, or outright immortality. They may feel cheated, and demand more.’ He sighed thoughtfully. ‘I sometimes question the wisdom of Eru, to place such power in the hands of your masters.’

I was disturbed by his irrefutable logic. Surely Manwë had considered this when the reward was given?

‘Say, my princess, would you not wish to be immortal?’ Mairon asked Nikteháa.

‘Only if I felt happy and loved,’ she answered wistfully. ‘Would you wish to live for ever in sorrow or loneliness, Eönwë? Would you spend an eternity refusing love, Yúum Síihbalóob?’

I shook my head and looked at Mairon; he glared back. Then he laughed heartily.

‘Oh, princess, you would be a most fearsome foe!’

‘Then you must strive to remain my friend, Annatar,’ she smiled sweetly. ‘My father can be overly protective sometimes, you know.’

I almost laughed aloud at the shock on Mairon’s face. Moringotto’s dreaded lieutenant had been threatened by a girl who bore the name of a flower.

It felt good to know I had such a stalwart ally.

 

~o~

 

‘Your Song of Power was most convincing, Findaráto,’ Mairon purred. I groaned under his soothing ministrations, after a long, strenuous session.

‘And you were terrifying as a werewolf, Sauron,’ I retorted, with a shiver of dread.

His fingers stilled on my back. He loathed the appellative given to him by the Children and, normally, I was careful never to use it in ordinary conversation. But I was still reeling from the ordeal of acting out Findaráto’s agonising death.

Since the completion of my training, Mairon had shifted into more challenging games, where both my body and mind were tried with confusing choices, blurred rules and deliberate traps, so that if pain, shame or pleasure diverted my attention from my tasks, I would surely fail, face his displeasure and be suitably chastised.

Sometimes he expected complete submission, others he would rather tame the stubborn defiance of a rebellious slave or, worse still, an unfortunate prisoner or an obstinate spy in his clutches. Other times, he mandated that we recreate events in the past history of Arda, and meticulously planned our scenes to achieve a certain degree of plausibility, though he rewrote certain episodes to his liking.

At first, it had felt like outrageous mockery, and I attempted to refuse but, as ever, discipline was meted out severely and my sweet reward withheld if I did not bend to Mairon’s whims and act convincingly. I finally succumbed to the thrill of pretending to be Maitimo, Findaráto, Beren, Túrin or even, to my undying shame, Oromë, the Lord of Mandos, Manwë himself or even the fair Lúthien, among many others.

‘How did you deprive my hröa from its senses?’ I asked. ‘It was terrifying! I would have believed I had been thrown into the Void, had it not been for the way you bared and flailed my mind.’

‘Are you truly asking to be initiated into Melkor’s most guarded secrets, for which he was reviled by his brethren?’

‘Certainly not. But sometimes I fear for my sanity more than for my hröa.’

‘Your willing embrace of that terror makes me delirious with desire, Eönwë. As does your submission, all the more seductive because you are not one created to kneel, even though you have now learnt to enjoy it.’

I did not deign to give an answer.

‘No sulking!’ he chided. ‘That matter is settled.’

About a year after our pact had been made, I had ventured a question about reversing roles, if only once. Mairon had made it extremely clear that he would not even contemplate the idea. Later, when Chakmóol joined us, I learnt that I would not be allowed to reciprocate the ahaw’s ungentle favours either.

‘You need not fear, Eönwë. I would not forgive myself if anything happened to you,’ Mairon whispered. I almost forgot to breathe when he unexpectedly nuzzled my neck and kissed me behind the ear, a rare gesture of affection outside our games. ‘I am extremely fortunate that you offer your whole self to me, my beauty. Despite my cruelty.’

I sat up and turned to face him.

‘I will never give myself to another, Mairon,’ I pledged, most fervently.

‘Never is a long time, friend,’ he laughed. His eyes shone with pride. ‘Now, lie down and let me finish.’

 

~o~

 

The woods in spring thrummed with renewed life, trees bursting with furled leaves of tender green hues that swayed gently in the breeze. I looked down at the doe that grazed by the stream, oblivious to our presence.

I already had an arrow nocked; I drew my bow slowly, aimed and released. Two sharp thuds broke the peace of the forest, followed by the rustling of the beast falling amongst the ferns. I stood, while whispering words of praise to Yavanna. I heard steps coming from my right; I saw Chakmóol walking forward to claim the kill.

‘Your Highness,’ I deferred, allowing him to go before me.

We both crouched by the dead animal. Two feathered shafts protruded from its flank, about a hand span apart.

‘You pierced the heart,’ conceded the king graciously. ‘The kill is yours.’

‘I am grateful, in Yúum[4], though your shot would have brought her down too.’

I began to pull both arrows off, careful not to damage the hide.

‘How about my beloved Nikteháa, my most precious jewel? Is she to die from a broken heart too, Counsellor?’ he hissed.

I stared at him in shock. He snatched his bloodied shaft from my hand.

‘Your Highness, you know better than anyone why I am unable to return her feelings.’

‘First you steal my place at Yúum Síihbalóob’s side; now you deny my daughter’s happiness. I have always valued your services and gladly granted you riches and power; I will give you anything you wish if you pledge yourself to Nikteháa.’ He was almost pleading.

Trampling noises behind us alerted us of his guards and foresters approaching.

‘My lord,’ I muttered, ‘I truly wish I could do your bidding; I have always treasured your daughter. But it is not in my power to obey you now. She deserves far better than lies.’

Chakmóol stood up, and I hastily followed. He inclined his head in a gesture of acceptance. I studied how he had changed from the day Mairon first brought me to his presence. Slight wrinkles crept from his eyes and lined his brow, and there was a hint of silver at his temples. I knew that his body was still well muscled and lithe. I had before me a man in his prime, strong and wise, a king, a father and a fierce foe.

‘Do not hurt her further, Eönwë.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion; his eyes glinted.

‘Never, in Ahaw[5].’

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the sound of a sword being partially drawn.

‘My lord, is everything in order?’ asked a harsh voice behind me.

I did not have to turn my head in order to recognise Síináan, Chakmóol’s ambitious kinsman and captain of his personal guard. It was common knowledge in our household that the captain had once shared Mairon’s bed and parted from him with bitter words. Since then, Síináan repeatedly voiced at court his mistrust against “those false citizens of Kiinlúum that covertly ruled the realm” and vainly attempted to discredit my friend in the eyes of the ahaw. Mairon never rose to the bait and instead let the genuine wisdom of his counsel defeat his opponent.

Only the previous week, Síináan had been thoroughly scolded by the ahaw in front of his whole council. It transpired that he had negligently ignored a request by Mairon to set a guard on the precious mother-of-pearl tiles imported at huge expense to build the magnificent mosaic that was to grace the queen’s garden, and they had been stolen from their storage. Later, they had been found abandoned in a ditch, many of them sadly crushed and ruined.

Now Síináan clearly sought a confrontation.

‘All is well, cousin,’ replied the king calmly. ‘You know how ardently we archers can argue about our craft. Eönwë was advising me on the merits of… Never mind, you favour the sword.’ He laughed softly, to disguise the lie. 

‘Indeed, my lord,’ growled the captain, blatantly glaring at me. ‘No doubt, words whispered by your alien counsellors are ever to be treasured over gold and riches, and above those humbly spoken by those who are true to their king.’

I would have ignored the insult, but Chakmóol did not let it pass.

‘I am not sure I like the meaning or the tone of your reply, Captain,’ he snapped.

Síináan blushed angrily at the rebuke. Turning to me, he made an elaborate pretence of a bow, far more insolent than respectful.

‘My apologies, lord,’ he said blandly, ‘I meant no harm with my jest.’

When his eyes met mine, they showed nothing but loathing.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes:

[1] mistarillë (Quenya, not attested) Equivalent to mithril in Sindarin

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

[3] sak' (Yucatec) itch + k'áak' (Yucatec) fire. sak'k'áak' could be translated as “itch of fire”, the author’s imaginary succulent plant of the family Euphorbiaceae (spurges). In our world, the plants of this family are not deadly poisonous, but their sap can irritate skin and mucose to greater or lesser degree, depending on the type of caustic terpen ester they contain.

[4] in Yúum (Yucatec) my Lord

[5] in Ahaw (Yucatec) my King