Protecting you by Gwailome

Chapter 1

- Tracks - Finyo says all of a sudden.
- Where? - I raise myself in the saddle and look around. - I don’t see anything. And wh...
Finyo's face tenses and I catch his meaning at once.
- Orokar?
- Yes. - He is also staring ahead but not exactly at the snow, as if his gaze were sliding over the immaculate white surface.
I am a little bewildered.
- Finyo, where is it? - without having agreed to do so, we both go on talking in a whisper.
- Under the snow. I can smell it.
I'm not as good a scout. Finyo is and he is already renowned for this skill. All I smell is leather and horse and fir and sometimes - when we come very close – the spicy aroma of his hair, as it streams free of his hood down to the waist.
- Rarely do they dare to come so far, - says Finyo reflectively as if talking to himself though obviously he is also talking to me. His face is growing intense and stern.
- Can you tell how far away they are? – with a gesture that has become habitual, I lay my hand on the hilt of my sword.
- I'd say the track is rather old but snow is deceptive, it stifles scent. - Finyo starts his horse. - Let's follow it a little, maybe I'll get a clearer sense of it.
We ride on in silence among the sparkling beauty of the winter day, darkened suddenly by the material reminder of our enemies' presence. Even our horses now tread more softly and carefully although one can't guess whether it's because they feel Orks or just our tension.
We cross fields and hollows and islands of sleeping trees in the cold sea of snow - but see no other prints than those of fox and deer, and the birds are chirping gaily and unworriedly, and the sun shines clear and high. At last Finyo pulls the reins.
- I've lost it, - he says with a sigh. It seems to me that though he's a bit vexed it is also a sigh of relief. And to speak the truth, I wouldn’t welcome any loathsome Orokar spoiling this ride with my otoronya. - And besides these were no doubt scouts, they move fast and at any rate will be long gone by now.
- Well, can we find the nearest troop of guards and tell them to keep a close watch?
- Let's try, maybe we'll cross the paths of one of them.
He lightly taps his heels against his horse's sides and we continue our leisurely ride - though still not quite as peacefully. I don't like this feeling very much - I used to think Barad-Eithel was strongly protected and quite far away from frontier; each of the few times I visited Finyo, I used to find rest and almost forget about danger and war. But now it has reached at me even here.
Warm hands cup my heart and tender and clear golden light trickles through the stone and steel armour around my soul that has hardened with my thoughts.
And, touched by this light, that dark and ridged coat turns into a shining and invincible crystal coat of mail. Finyo's face lightens in response to this unseen change and at once his quiet smile warms the chilly day.
Our luck is with us - or I should say Finyo's luck - and in about half an hour we meet some guards and tell them about the tracks. They report that they have seen no fresh signs and if there were any old tracks they were too effaced for them to notice. Finyo's face at last loses that hungry and intense expression like that of a hound on a trail and the last shadow leaves his smile when he wishes the patrol a good ride.
- Aren’t you tired? – asks Finyo as we turn our horses around and ride along the eaves of a great forest. Anyone else besides the otorno, toronyar and a very few others, I would have asked to stop playing my elder brother or just snorted haughtily. But at Finyo I can only smile and shake my head.
- Not at all, my dear. And anyway, - I wink proudly, - I can’t allow anyone of the Second House to be tougher than myself.
Finyo sniffs a little and then laughs lightly, and between the pale sky, the white snow and the transparent air the sound of his laugh rings out like a silver bell, even more than ever before. Inevitably, Finyo’s laugh makes my heart rejoice.
Grey clouds crawl across the sun and the sky, although the air remains clear; tender as feathers, great snowflakes float down and this quiet beauty is more touching than the sparkling lushness of the sunlit winter landscape stretching away around us
In a few minutes, Finyo’s hair is strewn with ethereal jewelry, which looks its best on his sable braids. I am feasting my eyes upon this wonderful sight so openly that Finyo soon ceases his tale about a winter hunt with Arelde and gazes back at me.
- What? – he asks with a little perplexed smile.
- Nothing, - I answer trying to look thoroughly impenetrable and enigmatic.
– Have I told you about Tyelko and the two ravens?
Of course I haven’t, I know. I am using this trick to lead Finyo’s thoughts away from his question.
- Well, Tyelko went a-hunting, alone, even without Huan. He shot a deer, but after cutting it up he realized that a storm was coming and he was not sure about the way. Then he saw two ravens flying past and asked them to lead him to the nearest elven shelter. They agreed in return for a part of his game. Tyelko cuts the deer in half, hoists half of it on his shoulders and walks after the ravens. They march on for some time and reach large piles of wind-fallen wood, with mighty trees towering above them, studded with raven’s nests.
- The storm is too close and it’s the nearest elven shelter, - say the ravens.
- I thank you, - says Tyelko, perplexed and chuckling, and since there is nothing else he can say or do, he cuts off a bit of meat and gives the rest to the ravens, then lights a fire and spends the night safely. And at sunrise with the help of the same ravens he finds his way home.
- Those black-tailed rooks, - he grumbled on coming home, - I'm surprised they didn't invite me to sleep in the largest nest – which was actually quite the right size for an Elda.
Finyo chuckles.
- I can imagine Turko climbing up politely muttering curses and nestling beneath some bird’s wing. But I’d better keep that to myself, - he sparkles and smiles in answer to my laugh.
- And I can imagine too… - he begins after a short pause and his smile turns soft and dreamy. – I wonder how beautiful white snowflakes would look upon your bright locks.
Without a further word, I pull off my hood and perch it on the pommel of my saddle. Then I spread my hair over my shoulders and look at Finyo. His eyes are as intense and tender as the quiet snowfall around us.
- That’s good? - I ask in a low voice.
- Yes, - answers Finyo, his voice almost chanting - it’s beautiful. Starry copperfall.
These simple words are more dear and sweet to me than all the music in Beleriand. The expression on Finyo’s face is so warm and it’s so warm inside me that I wonder why the snow around us isn’t melting…
And nevertheless it is I who spots them first. Finyo’s a scout – but I’m a watcher. And I am senior to him, in more than one way. I can’t make out if they’ve been hiding from us or waiting for us – but what difference does it make? Without a sound I jab Losselanta’s sides with my heels and we rush forward…
They’re few indeed – although not necessarily the same band. And they are trampled and crushed not only in flesh but in mind too. It takes me and Losselanta five or six strokes to make an end of them.
I jump out of the saddle to clean my sword of blood and at last I turn towards Finyo. He is frozen in movement astride his horse and his face is full of terror and shock and wonder. Not at once do I realize that Finyo has never seen me so close up in battle until now and moreover – he missed his chance to strike even one blow. Suddenly and indomitably through this terror rises such an agonizing pain, such deep comprehension, such profound care, that my heart, which hasn’t lost its rhythm during the fight, starts pumping unevenly and is troubled. Finyo dismounts, comes to me and embraces me, and though he is a head shorter I feel like a child in his parent’s strong arms.
- And to think only that it was ME who promised in my deepest heart I would always protect you, - he says in a quiet and tense voice, his eyes full of sorrow and pain. – Maitimo… forgive me, - he silences my lips with his fingertips, - forgive me for not protecting you from this… from becoming what you are now.
And here at last I understand everything. And a great weakness and sadness and love come over me. I hug Finyo tightly.
- Finyo, don’t. Let us never ever speak of guilt. Don’t YOU ever speak of YOUR guilt.
Now it’s my turn to press my fingers to his stubborn lips and to try to consume his trouble and despair with the wild flame of my poor heart.
Finyo kisses the palm of my hand and hugs me, hiding his face – as if he were trying to hide me in his heart from all the worries of the world.
And it comes to me as a stroke of lightning that so terrible and rushing was my onslaught because I would not suffer any filthy dart or sword or hand to touch my otorno or even to come close to him.
So never, indo ninya, - I say with my soul and my heart – never will my thought, my hand and my sword be so fierce and fast and fell as when I’m protecting you…