Whispers In The Stream by just_jenni

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Chapter 3-The Uncertainty of Summer

Please be warned that this chapter introduces a subject that may be extremely distasteful to some people. And yet to say what it is would give away an element of surprise, and so let me just say that it involves a discussion of a possibly incendiary political issue, even in this country (Canada) which is more leftist-leaning than our beloved neighbours to the south. The act is legal here, but still comes under fierce debate from time to time.

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Haleth awoke with an odd sensation trickling through her stomach. She turned over onto her belly, feeling the coolness of the sheets beneath her prone, naked body and she reached out to stroke the silky skin of Caranthir, lying next to her. He stirred slightly at her touch and murmured something unintelligible. His voice was soothing and melodic, stilling the nightmarish fears that still clung to her memory. She looked at him but he was not awake.

Removing her hand from Caranthir’s back where it lay like a limp flower, Haleth felt the trickle in her belly become more uncomfortable. She pushed back the covers, swinging her legs over the side of the bed so that she could seek to soothe her feet upon the cool wooden floor.

‘Oh Gods,’ she thought. ‘I am going to be sick.’ She had just enough time to reach an empty plant pot and she bent forward to heave into it, trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to awake the still-sleeping Elf while she evacuated the contents of her stomach.

Passing an unsteady hand across her forehead and feeling the slick sheen of perspiration, Haleth returned on tip-toe to the bed and sat upon its edge. Hanging her head between her knees, she attempted to help the sense of nausea pass. She noticed that the weight of her breasts caused them to feel sore, and she was puzzled by this. They had never felt heavy before upon bending. She lay back slowly on the mattress, shivering from the sensation of the cool sheets that had only a few moments ago felt soothing.

She glanced at Caranthir again, letting her gaze wander over his luxurious black hair that covered the pillow with its dusky strands. She admired the sensuous curve of his shoulder, shapely with muscle and smooth of skin. Wishing for a moment that she was an artist so that she might put brush to canvas and render his exquisite form to posterity, she laughed when she realized that since he was an Elf and would live forever in comparison to her own kindred, it would be completely unnecessary to have to paint a portrait of him. He would last long after she would.

Her thoughts wandered to her parents and brother, all dead, and she wished that she had had the foresight to preserve their memory in even as much as simple drawings so that she could hang them on the wall of her room or place them in frames upon a sideboard. She felt sad that there was nothing she possessed, no token with which to remember them.

She had never seen any portraits of Caranthir’s father or mother in his house—her house too, as he had told her. “My home is yours now too, Haleth,” he had purred to her in a seductive voice like dark velvet against her skin. It was a voice that always soothed her fears. Curiously, although she knew he had many brothers, she had never met them and he rarely spoke of them. He never spoke of his parents. She realized she did not know very much about him.

She had only met his cousin, with whom he was close—a warm and friendly Elf named Finrod, who was as fair as Caranthir was dark, as open as Caranthir was close, and as talkative as Caranthir was taciturn.

She delighted in Finrod’s company. They both did. And they had good times together, the three of them, laughing at so many things that she and Caranthir would never have found amusing together. Finrod was a fairly able singer and would play for them on his small harp and sing all the songs he knew. Times were merry when he was with them. He brought joy into their world. But when he was gone and they were alone, their mutual passion for each other overwhelmed them and they were lovers more than anything else, coming together in their frenzied passion day after day, night after night. Caranthir was insatiable and Haleth could not get enough of him.

“Live with me in my house,” he had said, but she had been reluctant.

“My people—“ she had protested. “I cannot leave them.”

“Move them here, onto my lands.” (He had said “my lands”, not “our lands”.) “You can govern them from the house and live here with me.”

When he spoke these words, the intensity of his earnest gaze disintegrated Haleth’s resolve. When he held out his strong arm and pulled her to him, she had acquiesced to his wishes, feeling all the time that her freedom and the freedom of her people to make their own choices were being eroded, bit by bit. Yet she could not resist Caranthir and willingly moved her small tribe onto his property after all, though reluctance clung to her and almost pulled her back to remaining true to her original purpose—to leave Thargelion. She felt like a person trying to move forward while wearing a cloak whose hem clung to the mud and stuck to the ground.

Haleth sighed and threw an arm behind her head, running her hand through her mass of curls, and rubbing her head with the exasperation she felt at her weakness and indecision.

Caranthir stirred and rolled over to face her. His hand reached out with automatic familiarity to rest upon her breast, his sensitive fingers gently squeezing the swollen flesh. His eyes opened in surprise and a knowing look flitted across his face but he said nothing. He left his hand on her warm skin but lowered it to her belly, softly stroking its gentle swell. He smiled but did not speak to her.

Haleth breathed a heavy sigh and raised her head from her pillow. “I need a bath,” she told him and got up slowly, testing herself. She felt much better and when she rose to her feet she did not feel dizzy. She walked into the bathroom with steady gait and pulled the cord that would summon her personal servant.

When the Elf-woman entered the bedchamber, she nodded briefly to Caranthir who remained in bed, sitting with the sheets draped without shyness over his thighs and perusing a book that he held in his lap. She was the same woman who had helped Haleth on the first day she had slept in Caranthir’s house. Haleth later discovered that she was married to Caranthir’s butler, whom she had at first thought to be a spiritless creature.

The butler and his wife had turned out to be two kindly, trusted people who took care of both Caranthir and Haleth, who depended on them a great deal. One had to look hard to find them during their time off, for they were reticent and usually retired to their own cottage, keeping to themselves. They suited their lord well, since he was almost as untalkative as they.

“Orithil,” said Haleth. “I’d like some water drawn for a bath, if you don’t mind, and later—“ Her voice trailed off and she reduced it to a whisper.

“Yes, my lady?” Orithil asked, also whispering.

“I’d like to talk to you about something—er—very personal,” Haleth murmured. “It is private. I don’t want Lord Caranthir to know about it.”

Orithil looked at Haleth silently for a moment. Her face looked to Haleth to be etched in sharp melancholy lines. “Yes, my lady,” she said finally, and left to summon other servants to come and fill the bath.

Haleth picked up a robe from her wardrobe and wrapped it around her body. She glanced at Caranthir, wishing to talk to him. Noticing that he looked to be deeply engrossed in his book, she perceived from his stillness that he was unapproachable for conversation and after a brief hesitation and a struggle with her conflicting emotions, she decided to leave him alone. She held her robe tightly around her body and walked back into the bathroom to sit by herself and wait for Orithil to bring the servants to come and fill the tub.

Once the tub was filled and Haleth was lying back in the warm water, letting it soothe her chilled limbs, she made her concerns known to Orithil. Speaking in a quiet voice so that Caranthir would not overhear, she asked the question that worried her most.

“Orithil,” she began, and bent forward, wrapping her arms around her knees and watching her toes appear to be moving beneath the rippling water when she moved her feet.

“Yes, my lady Haleth?” Orithil enquired, gently spreading lather over the back of Haleth’s shoulders.

“May I ask you something that may seem like an odd question, but to which I would most like to know the answer?”

“Of course, my lady,” said Orithil, her eyebrows raised.

“Well—it seems that I have some odd symptoms,” Haleth continued.

“Symptoms, my lady? Are they of a physical nature?”

“Yes, they are,” Haleth replied. “I have been sick this morning, and my body is changing in the most peculiar ways—“

“You need not say more, my lady,” said Orithil. “I know what it is that troubles you.”

“You do?” asked Haleth. “How could you know?” She turned an incredulous stare upon Orithil, her eyes open wide with curiosity.

“Yes. You are with child. I know this because I have had a daughter. I did notice that one of the plant pots smelled rancid this morning. I shall remove it right away and then I shall return to speak with you, if you wish.”

Haleth nodded and Orithil got up and left Haleth alone with her thoughts.

‘I cannot be with child!’ Haleth thought upon her servant’s words with a sense of horror. She was shocked into silence and sat still as stone in the bathtub. She picked up her sponge and continued to soap herself, pondering her situation.

‘Caranthir must not know of this. I do not want this baby. It will tie me to his house and I cannot allow that to be. That such a thing should happen to me must be a lesson. I never should have let him turn me from my intended path. I shall never have this baby. Once the thing that I must do is done I shall leave here with my people as I should have many months ago.’

When Orithil had left the bathroom to retrieve the soiled pot, Caranthir slipped out of bed, his tanned skin glowing with warmth, and made his way to the bedroom door in order to hold it open, enabling Orithil to pass with the planter. Unabashed by his nakedness, he stared at her intently as she went through the door. She did not look at him.

Once she had passed through the door, Caranthir closed it behind her and crossed silently to the bathroom. He watched Haleth scrubbing herself vigorously with a sponge, murmuring quietly to herself, before he padded to the bathtub to join her. His long, lithe legs allowed him to step easily into the tub, where he slid gracefully behind her.

Haleth gave a great start and clapped her hand to her chest. “Caranthir! You have startled me! What are you doing here?” she cried. She turned to face him.

“An odd question,” said Caranthir, one brow raised higher than the other, “considering the fact that we bathed together just last night.”

“B-but you did not want to talk to me this morning,” Haleth stammered.

Caranthir’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “But how could you know that?” he asked quietly. “Have you now the gift of prescience?”

“You were reading your book,” said Haleth, meeting his gaze with a steady, determined look. “I did not think you wanted to talk to me.”

“Not reading—merely looking at it,” he said gently, and reached out to touch her chin lightly with his long fingers. He tipped her head slightly backwards and gazed deeply into her eyes.

Haleth stared back at him. His dark, unbraided hair fell about his face, softening its features. His steely grey eyes with their intense gaze made him appear to be reading her most private thoughts and intentions.

‘He knows,’ she thought with sudden panic. ‘He knows. And what, I wonder, will he do about it?’

“Caranthir,” she said, her voice beginning to rise despite her desire to remain calm.

“Yes, my lovely Haleth?” he asked, his voice a whisper.

“Do you love me?” she asked, willing herself not to falter and drop her gaze or in any other way to give away her thoughts.

“Of course I love you,” he replied. “Have I not said it often enough, Haleth?”

“It is not that,” she said softly. “Do you love me enough to let me do what I want—what I think is best, no matter what it is?”

He was silent for a moment before he drew back from her and rested his back against the opposite wall of the tub. He dropped his hands under the surface of the water. His smile had disappeared. He looked both puzzled and disappointed, and she did not know what to make of his answer.

“I do,” he said.

Later, after Caranthir had dressed and left the room, Haleth sat brooding at her dressing-table while Orithil brushed her hair.

“Orithil, do you know how to rid yourself of a pregnancy?” Haleth asked.

Orithil had begun to plait the bright strands into the braided style of the Elves. She paused. “I do know of certain—potions—one can take,” she said. “There are also other—less pleasant ways to achieve the same desired result if the potion were not to work.”

“Are there?” Haleth asked her. “Well, Orithil, you are knowledgeable. You must tell me about them. Do not worry—I am—or was—a warrior-maiden. I can abide whatever unpleasantries you tell me, no matter how harrowing they may be.”

Once Orithil had finished telling Haleth about the various methods used to cause a pregnancy to be interrupted, the young mortal woman’s face was pale with distaste and horror.

“This is wrong, is it not?” Haleth asked. “It would be an affront to your Gods for me to rid myself of this child. What will they do to me, I wonder?”

“It seems to me that it is no lesser wrong than taking lives by means of war. The Valar do not have control over us. Only Ilúvatar, the Father, has authority over what happens to our fëar. But if you ask me for my opinion, the Valar have approved of war.” Orithil spoke quietly, her brows drawn in a thoughtful expression. “You and Lord Caranthir are not married in the usual way between Elves, but I know not of laws concerning Elf and Mortal. However, if there has been union between your bodies, then pregnancy could have come to be. It is not my business to delve into the most intimate parts of your life, my lady, but if you and he have not wed in the way of the Elves, speaking the name of Ilúvatar and blessed by Manwë and Varda, I do not think it would have any bearing on your ability to have children.”

Haleth turned and clasped Orithil’s hand. She squeezed it with affection and looked upon her loyal servant with a sympathetic gaze. “I would not have believed that it could have happened,” she said. “ But it did. You do know the most intimate details about me, Orithil, because I have no one else in whom to confide. My mother is dead. Can you please arrange to have a potion made for me? I have made up my mind that this is what I shall do. Lord Caranthir must know nothing of it. Please promise me that you shall never tell him what has happened to me. I plan to leave within a few days, gather my people, and begin our journey to Dorthonion, where I should have gone more than half a year ago. If I do not leave now, winter will set in, and then it will be too late for us to go.”

Orithil put down the ornate silver hairbrush with which she was using to plait and brush Haleth’s curls. “I shall miss you, my lady,” she said, her soft hands gently squeezing the tops of Haleth’s shoulders, tears forming in her eyes.

A few days later, Haleth sat across from Caranthir at the breakfast table. She feigned eating, picking up morsels of food and breaking them into even smaller pieces before pretending to put them into her mouth, and alternately raising the heavy ceramic cup of steaming tea to her lips, taking only tiny sips of the refreshing brew.

Caranthir was munching heartily upon thick toast spread liberally with butter and honey, and left-over sliced ham. “ Today I leave to meet with the Dwarves about excavating a new mine where that vein of gold I was telling you about was discovered,” he said. “ It is in the north, near Lake Helevorn, therefore I shall be gone for many days.”

Haleth put down her cup and regarded him with a somber gaze. She steadied her hands on the sides of the warm ceramic mug. ‘This will be our last meal together,’ she thought, and pain like a cruel steel blade pierced her midsection. ‘I will not see him again.’

“I shall miss you, Caranthir,” she whispered, her lower lip beginning to tremble.

He looked at her sharply. “Would you like to accompany me?” he asked.

“No,” she said firmly. “I mean that I would like to, but I have promised Rodyn, my second-in-command, to help him organize this year’s midsummer festival. If I go with you then it will be too late for me to do so by the time we return.”

“Very well,” said Caranthir. “ What is to be will be.”

When he was gone and their farewells had been made to each other, Haleth found herself traversing the hedged pathway to the small cottage where Orithil lived with her family and knocked upon the closed wooden door. The sound her rapping knuckles made rang hollow and resonated sorrowfully into the air of the cool summer afternoon.

Orithil opened the door and Haleth spoke swiftly. “This evening I shall go to my people and tell them to prepare for our departure in the morning. Can you bring the potion to my bedchamber tonight, Orithil? I plan to take it with me. I will commit the act in Dorthonion, our new home, once we have reached those lands. I will not leave the products of our union here, where Caranthir lives. It would be the worst kind of insult and I cannot do such a thing to him.”

Pressing her fingers to her burning eyelids, Haleth fell sobbing against Orithil’s shoulder.