~ The Thread Spinner ~ by Spiced Wine

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Chapter 3 ~ Uneasy Waters ~

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~ Uneasy Waters ~

~ That night, and for the first time, Mélamírë was invited to dine with Prince Tonda-kai’s household. She was rather touched that the women had arranged that gowns be made for her, bright cotton that wrapped over the breasts and under the arms, with long, fringed shawls draped over the shoulders.

Prince Tonda-kai was a short, lean man with soft features at variance with the shrewdness of his dark eyes. His head was shaven and oiled, and thick red-gold draped his chest in descending chains stuck with gemstones.
Vanimórë had said he was wary of her (‘as he is of me’) but he was courteous, though his eyes strayed to her often, speculative and more. His scrutiny was not unkind but, raw from her recent experiences, she could only be glad that she was not remaining in Saikan, though his offer was couched politely.

It was also the first time she had seen any of Vanimórë’s men, several of whom sat below their lord’s table. They were young, save one, a Captain L’tul. Some possessed olive-gold skin and dark curls, others were black skinned, white teeth startling against the darkness of their flesh. All were uniformed as Vanimórë, in black leather and also seemed to emulate his poise. Even when dancing girls came, casting out gaily-coloured scarves with come-hither glances from kohl-rimmed eyes, they were restrained. They, too, gazed at Mélamírë when they thought she was not looking, but their looks did not make her skin crawl.

Either, she mused, Vanimórë selected his men from those who did not favour women, or they were superbly disciplined. She suspected the latter. Vanimórë, without the least effort, dominated the room. He was a guest here; he might as well have been the king, Tonda-kai his subject. No doubt she was Sauron’s daughter? There was no doubt whose son he was. Aulendil had always walked as if he ruled the world. She was conscious of a growing curiosity to see Sud Sicanna, whether she remained there or not. She needed quiet, a workshop, access to the same components she had used when creating Galadriel’s mirror. It has occurred to her that perhaps she could reach Galadriel of her own world through a second scrying device. What good that would do she was unsure, but she had to begin somewhere.

‘A workshop?’ Vanimórë said the next day. This time they rode east, deeper into the hills, stopping beside a lovely little waterfall that tumbled into a spear-shaped pool. Tiny butterflies hovered over splashes of wildflowers, and trees offered shade. Four of Vanimórë’s soldiers had accompanied them; now they busied themselves with the horses before setting out food and drink.

‘Is there danger?’ Mélamírë asked, gesturing at the escort.

‘I doubt it, but I am cautious by nature,’ he returned. ‘Besides, it is a pleasant ride for them.’ A slim young man with a rather beautiful face and glossy curls laid out food and drink for them. His amber-brown eyes smiled as he bowed to Vanimórë.

‘My thanks, Tanout, now go and eat, drink, relax.’

‘Sire.’ Tanout saluted and joined his comrades some way away. There came a rattle of dice, low voices.

‘A workshop,’ Vanimórë continued when she had listed her requirements. She did not tell him what she intended, or even about Galadriel’s mirror. Not yet. To a point, she felt inclined to trust him, but only to a point. He was Sauron’s son, bound to Sauron’s mind by his own admission. If she could not afford the indulgence of tears, she could not, either, afford the indulgence of wholehearted trust. It was a lonely position to find oneself in.
‘Yes, the palace has workshops and thou may have one for thy work. As for the rare metals and ores...Sud Sicanna is a trading hub. Thou shouldst be able to obtain anything, though it may take some sourcing. If the only place that particular ore exists is Hadhodrond, that is more difficult.’

She shrugged biting into a cold leg of capon, and chewed, swallowing. ‘I can extract the element from zinc ore or coal, if I have to and if there is enough of it.’ And if she could replicate the workshops of Ost-in-Edhil, she thought, with a pang. Gone now, burned, broken, all that knowledge, all that art, which she had thought her father cherished... She could only hope that the people she cared for had, somehow, survived.
The meat became tasteless in her mouth. She put it down, reached for wine.

‘There are guilds in the city,’ Vanimórë said. ‘Unfortunately none that deals with the movements of Time and Space. But any thou wouldst deem useful will be delighted to help thee.’

I am sure they will, she thought. He would make certain of it.

‘One of them blew up their hall and set fire to their hall a few years ago,’ he added reminiscently. ‘Fortunately there were only minor injuries. It did not seem to discourage them in the least. I believe their hair and eyebrows grew back eventually.’

She looked up, saw those splendid purple eyes twinkling, and had to laugh. It released the constriction in her chest, but the sound was half a sob.
‘What were they doing?’

‘Explosive powder. Sauron has used it, and the Númenoreans too. Sulphur —‘

‘Charcoal and saltpetre,’ she finished. ‘Black powder.’

‘Some brilliant idiot wanted to try and use it with arrows,’ he said. ‘Asked me to watch a demonstration using one of my soldiers and a slave. I said I would watch if demonstrated himself, and on a non-living target. He almost died of his burns. Now I have banned its use save for quarrying. It is quite useful for that purpose, or clearing deep-rooted trees, not that there is much need for that in Sud Sicanna.’

She eyed him curiously, with some disapproval. ‘I see your point, but experimentation is important. You have absolute power in Sud Sicanna, then?’

‘I do not mind people experimenting, Istyanis, just not on other people without their consent,’ he replied. ‘Yes, I do have absolute power of rule. Sud Sicanna is not like an Elven city. The chieftains of the Clan Houses vie against each other. Corruption is common, assassination is not uncommon. I did not escape the attempts, though no-one has tried now for a long time. I have to have absolute power.’ He sipped his wine. ‘And yet it is a better place, I think, a fairer one then when I rode through its gates.’

‘All tyrants would say the same. As would he.’

She saw the fury ignite behind his eyes, so that for a moment, he was not a man but a force, inhuman and ancient. Then, brutally, he repressed it.
‘I am a warrior, a commander of armies, and the ruler of a city. Those, Istyanis, are the only things I can do. But those I do well.’

She said, stiffly, ‘I apologise.’

‘What for, for telling me I am my father’s son? I am.’ He tilted his head. ‘I was born in Tol-in-Gaurhoth. I was raised and trained in Angband. I wish to the Hells I was not Sauron’s son, and thou doth wish thou wert not his daughter, but we are his children. And some things leave imprints. I have no doubt I would be a much better man had I been raised among Elves, but I am not. This is all there is.’

Outrage heated her blood. ‘I did not mean to imply that I thought myself superior to you!’

One of his black brows arched. ‘Thou needst not, Istyanis, I am sure thou art.’ He lifted a hand. ‘Never mind that now. I have been thinking. There is someone in Sud Sicanna who might help thee, but I am not sure if she will.’

Mélamírë tucked in the ragged edges of her temper. ‘She? Who?’

‘She is a goddess. So she says.’ He refilled their cups. ‘She was slain there, where Sud Sicanna was later built, by Melkor, in the days when he denned in Utumno. Or that is what she showed me. Her blood went into the land and she slept for Ages of the world. The tribes had legends of her, the Sleeping Goddess.’

Settling back, Mélamírë listened. ‘She says? She showed you?’

‘I woke her.’ He made an odd movement, as if wrenching away from something. ‘She calls herself Dana, the Mother.’

‘I have heard of such tales, a mother goddess.’ He woke her, and not easily, by the look of it.

‘I re-dedicated the temple to her. There are no longer any sacrifices, at least not of the kind Melkor would have desired.’ He lifted his head. ‘Tanout, come here a moment. Tell the Istyanis Mélamírë what thou canst of the temple.’

‘Sire.’ The young warrior bowed his head respectfully. ‘Everything? But we are not permitted to speak of it.’

‘Only what is common knowledge.’

Tanout cast a look at Mélamírë, drew a long breath and straightened; a soldier giving a report.
‘Men may sacrifice at the temple of the Mother,’ he said. ‘Or sometimes are called, as I was. The sacrifice is not their blood, but their bodies.’ His smooth cheeks pinked. ‘The High priestess, or any of her chosen acolytes have the right to...’ he seemed to hunt for the right words and discard several before ending: ‘to use us for their pleasure.’

‘The priestess do not marry,’ Vanimórë said. ‘Very well, Tanout.’ He smiled and the young man bowed to them both, returned to his colleagues. ‘Because Dana does not, but they can and do have children. Girl-children usually, though not invariably, stay in the temple, the boys might become soldiers or apprentices. Bastardy is not a stigma if a child is born to the temple.’

Mélamírë did not know whether to be amused or annoyed. Her voice came tart. ‘You allowed that poor boy to be passed around like a...’

‘I had nothing to do with it. And he professed himself willing.’

‘Of course he would, to you!’ she hissed, not wanting Tanout to hear. ‘He idolises you. They all do.’

‘Dana demanded it,’ he said temperlessly, his eyes veiled. ‘Sometimes she steps in, in place of the temple women, if the man is to her taste.’

I see. ‘Is that why you do not trust her?’ she asked. ‘Because you do not. Do you?’

He set the wine up aside. A frown drew itself between his brows. ‘I do not,’ he admitted. ‘Not for that reason, though. I doubt I would trust any Power, and she does have power, but she does not seem to do anything with it. She says she walks the world in the guise of a woman, many women, she can take any face and form she pleases. I wish I could believe she does good where she wanders, but...’ He looked at her. ‘She is fickle. She will never answer a straight question. She comes to me for sex, tells me it is my duty. Yes, I can see that it would be somewhat amusing, except that—‘

Except that...he had hidden most of it when she looked into his mind, but she had seen enough to know what use Sauron and Melkor had put him to. There were no images, no walking into scenes of horror, but it was so much a part of him that no barriers could entirely conceal it; it was written into his flesh and blood, a shame and rage that burned like acid into his mind. He might hide it from others, but she could feel it around him like dark, fire-shot wings.
‘I do not see that it is your duty,’ she disagreed. ‘Did you not wake her?’ (And how?) ‘What can you possibly owe her?’

‘I wonder that myself,’ he said frankly. ‘She says I am a man,’ with a disarming smile. ‘The temple has some power in Sud Sicanna and all power must be balanced. As to what I was saying: perhaps Dana could help, but she seems to do only what she wants to. And...’ His expression became intent, a little rueful. ‘Dana can look like any woman, but she has certainly never looked like thee.’

She willed down the blush, turned the subject: ‘So you do not have absolute power?’

‘I do, but in matters spiritual? I would not even want them.’ He made a wry face. ‘I suppose Mortals need something to worship. Many still reverence Sauron out of fear, and Melkorian worship and Sauron’s are so linked together one cannot really separate them, although Sauron would like to! others turn to Dana, or tribal gods, or swing between all, hoping to offend none.’

‘I would have thought that after so long...how long have you ruled Sud Sicanna?’

‘Seven hundred years, or a little more.’

‘Then they worship you. Oh, come, of course they do.’

‘I have forbidden it,’ he snapped, suddenly cold and inflexible as iron.

She nodded. ‘So they do.’

‘I would be most seriously displeased were that so.’ He came lightly to his feet, looked down at her. ‘Middle-earth is no place for gods and their vagaries. What good are they? I used to pray to the Valar, once. They never answered.’

Mélamírë remembered hearing the voice of the Doomsman when she contemplated suicide. More than contemplated. I was on the very brink. Cold as a snake it had been, and as pitiless. It was told that Lúthien had sung before him and moved him to compassion, yet there had been none for her, desperate and grieving. Unless, he thought his cold, dark Halls were a gift of peace. She rubbed her arms, chilled.
‘No,’ she echoed, hollow at the core of her, as he passed her a cloak. ‘Middle-earth is no place for gods.’ She rose, joined him at the water’s edge. ‘What do you find hope in?’ And what about me? Where do I find it?

‘Me? Nothing. I cannot afford hope.’

There was nothing in his voice, no emotion at all, and the bleak greyness of such a prospect stifled her. Then he broke into that flashing smile and said, ‘But thou hast hope: people who care for thee, who love thee. They wait for thee, Mélamírë. All we have to do ,’ he gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow, ‘is manipulate Vairë’s Threads and send thee back.’

‘All we have to do,’ she repeated, smiling despite herself. ‘We?’

‘Thou canst at least use me to throw ideas at.’

‘I will,’ she nodded. ‘I will do that.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘I know I have not been exactly gracious, and I am sorry for that, when you have been kind.’

‘I do not know what state my mind would be in, Lady, Istyanis, if our positions were reversed.’ He gleamed at her. ‘Certainly I would have no idea how to return to my own Middle-earth. I admire thine equanimity, and I can imagine, at least, how hard it is to maintain it.’

It was hard, it was almost impossible. She was hanging on by her fingernails.
She said, ‘I’m trying to make myself believe this is a dream. It makes things a little easier. Are you?’ Faintly teasing, faintly mocking, ‘a dream?’

‘I wish,’ he said lightly, ‘that I were.’

The waterfall winked and laughed at her.

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