Tengwa malta by Sky

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Chapter 1

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“There, unseen by others, from now on

They are ruling undividedly…”

(Lora Bocharova They)

 

***

I wake up because something metallic is pushing my knee. When you’re riding the subway and you’re on your feet and it’s early in the evening, there’s nothing strange about that. But when you’re sitting and it’s half an hour to midnight and the carriage is almost empty… I open my eyes a little and see a scabbard. A long black scabbard with the thick hilt of a great sword sticking out of it.

Here we are.

The scabbard is tightly belted to a black velvet surcoat. The surcoat is long and embroidered in silver. Down below, very close to my feet, standing solidly on the swaying floor, there are two giant feet in muddy leather boots. It’s obvious I’ve got nowhere to run, it’s silly to pretend I’m still sleeping - so I raise my head.

Above me, like a mountain over an ant, towers a great warrior with dark-red hair reaching down almost to his buttocks. He is so tall that the horizontal handrail above is level with his chin. With his elbows in their scarlet silk he’s leaning on the iron handrail as nonchalantly as if it were some not very high fence. On his black surcoat a big eight-pointed star is embroidered in silver. The warrior is staring down at me from the ceiling a little guiltily.

“I’ve hit you? Sorry…”

“Ma…Ma…” – that’s all I can force out.

“What – mama?” – he misunderstands me.

“Maitimo?” – I babble in a husky voice.

At this moment, the train starts and the Feanoring, who has just leaned down to hear me better, at once bangs his head against the handrail.

“Maitimo!!”

Oh, now he is going to tumble down on me with all his weight…

But the elf just shakes his head, tosses his hair aside from his face and with some perplexity touches the small hollow in the handrail. I jump to my feet.

“Are you all right?! Bend down please!”

He stoops obediently and I plunge my fingers into his hair, groping for the bump which surely must be already swelling … but there’s nothing. No wounds or bruises.

“Excuse my curiosity, - he mutters in my ear, - but what are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a bump!”

“A bump? – he looks at me perplexedly, then starts laughing and straightens up again, leaving me face to face with the eight-pointed star. – From such an impact I couldn’t get any bump”.

“But the handrail,” – I mumble, watching as if hypnotized by such a wide chest going in and out in time with his breathing.

“You’d better sit down. Or you’ll fall.

I plump back down on the seat obediently.

“No doubt I’ll fall, and not because of the train,” – flashes through my head. Meanwhile Maitimo unhurriedly unfastens the scabbard from his belt and sits beside me, hitting the iron-clad point of scabbard against the floor with a menacing sound. But even having sat down, the stately Feanoring towers above me by more than two head.

The woman opposite me is white as a sheet, with her eyes full of terror. Poor lady…

The Feanoring is sitting silently and quietly watching dirty wires and walls through the windows of the carriage. In the electric light I perfectly see his profile with the proud family nose, stubborn chin and fine pointed ears. I might be going to faint now…

I lower my eyes. Very close to me, on his right knee, lies the handless arm, hidden by the sleeve which is tightened and tied with a lace. His left hand, gloved, lies on the silver pommel of his sword, swaying with the movement of the train.

“Don’t be so afraid of me, please,” – Maitimo bends over me so that springy curly tresses shadow the window and the seat on the opposite side.

“I’m not afraid, - with an effort I restrain the desire to touch them, - just… You know, it’s not every day that the crown prince of the First House enters your subway carriage just like this.”

He makes no answer and I raise my head. The Feanoring is watching me from his impressive height gently and mockingly. He doesn’t smile with his lips but wrinkles appear in the corners of his eyes and it suits his stern face very much. It seems – from the point of view of this elf – that only a child couldn’t understand the obvious reason for his appearance on the Moscow underground in full court dress and with a long-sword at his girdle.

“You wanted to write down one of my conversations”.

Maitimo pauses, waiting for my response. Yes, I was walking in the Kolomenskij park this morning, with my sister Earin, and we were composing an atrabeth of Maedhros and Fingon in our heads, while rustling through leaves and splashing through puddles.

“I came to dictate it to you”.

Shiver me timbers! This isn’t for real, is it?

“Maitimo…”

“Yes?”

“You are just a dream”.

It sounds awfully silly. The Feanoring throws back his head and laughs aloud, showing even, white teeth. And it’s too much for my poor head.

“Not a bit! - he traps the tip of the glove under his right wrist and pulls it off easily. – Am I warm?”

I reach out to him shyly. His long fingers with their shortly cut nails are dry and roughish and indeed warm. My palm on his hand looks like a child’s.

“Yes”.

I don’t want to pull back my hand at all. I’m already opening my mouth to ask the elf to pinch  my shoulder, just for sure, but realize in time that the bruises after such a request will likely last for a couple of months.

“Have you got a pen and paper?”

It seems Maitimo is eager to take up his duty as a story-teller on the spot.

“No… only at home”.

“So, at home”.

“And what shall I say to mom?”

“She will be frightened like you? Like all these people?”

I have time to picture my mom’s reaction in all detail. Oh, you bet she will…

“I think, much more than me”.

“But why?” – the warrior is obviously upset.

“Maitimo, they are afraid of the sword. Of how tall you are, how you are dressed, - I totally don’t want to go into details about Tolkien role-players and public opinion concerning them. - There’s nothing you can do about it. I’m sorry that is how it’s organized here”.

“Why are YOU apologizing? It’s not your fault”.

“It’s not, but I live here”.

“You didn’t choose where to live, did you?”

I have nothing to answer to these words. Moreover, the red granite columns of my own station start flashing behind the windows.

“Time to get off”.

Obediently the Feanoring rises to his feet and, bending his head, steps onto the platform. The passengers who stay behind see us off with eloquent looks which I feel on my back even through my jacket and, because of this, my pride literally flowers, purrs and shines in every possible way.

At my station almost all the passengers stream out from the train. Maitimo slowly walks behind me in the crowd, with his armour rattling, hitting legs with the scabbard and apologizing every minute or so. His red head and broad shoulders in their scarlet silk tower over the sea of black caps, shaven heads and dyed perms like the sails of a four-mast frigate over a flock of excursion vessels. On the escalator, the elf stands a step below me, but still he’s noticeably taller. I stare dumbly at the scarlet collar of his shirt and the line of his chin. Maitimo’s face is serious but his eyes are smiling. Oh my god… I hide both hands behind my back and frantically pinch my arm. The Feanoring is still there and what is more – it’s quite obvious that other people see him too. Right. So, we’ll get on as circumstances allow.

************

Here, mom is already opening the door. I steel myself, but instead of an amused or leading question I hear:

“Hello, dear. Do you want your dinner heated?”

“Mom. We do”.

“E-er?”

I meet a perplexed look. I turn to the Feanoring, but he stands leaning against the doorpost and examining a paper lamp on the ceiling.

‘It’s nothing. I’ll go and change my hide.

Leaving my mom to meditate about this “we”, I walk to the farthest part of the room and turn to the Noldo:

“She doesn’t see you?”

“You said – she would be scared”.

“It means you can decide? To be seen by some people and not to be seen by others? Well… - I sit down on the bed and draw my legs under me. – Such a fox you are, lord Maitimo…”

By way of an answer he just smiles contentedly.

An hour later, the Feanoring is walking around the flat just as he likes and, making use of his selective invisibility, is commenting on our actions and phone conversations, and it’s very hard not to answer…

***

I’m sitting at my computer, and Maitimo is walking carefully around the flat, looking closely at one thing after another. Now and again he’s glancing up at the ceiling, taking care not to brush against the lamp. Poor him…

He comes up to me, stepping noiselessly.

“Tell me, have you got any kahve?”

For two days, I’ve been getting used to say “kahve” instead of “coffee”, “bundle” instead of “packet” and “quenilas” instead of “tea”. This morning I put a shopgirl in a spot by asking for “some green quenilas, a special kind”. I should say that Maitimo likes green tea with maple syrup, a bit of which my sister had brought, but it’s not a dainty to be found in every supermarket.

“Yes, - I respond without looking, – a square black bundle in the kitchen, on the shelf above the table. And the turka is in the cupboard.

“Our Turko is in the cupboard in the kitchen? Our Celegorm?”

“Oh no, not Turkafinwe, - turka! Coffeepot!”

Maitimo is frowning and it takes all my efforts to keep even the appearance of seriousness.

“A pot to make coffee… kahve”.

“Coffeepot! – Maitimo throws back his head and laughs aloud. – Coffeepot, come and help me in the smithy!”

 

Three days later, me and my sister, being a little crazed with the lateness of the hour and bent over with laughter, decide that: let Makalaure be a quenilas-pot, Ambarussa – tea-cups and Carnistir and Curufinwe – pots for salt and pepper. Maitimo, coming back from the bathroom, hears only the end of our dialogue, but he gets it right and a punishing hand of threatening size is rising over the back of my neck.

“Sorry-sorry-sorry! Maitimo! We’re not serious!”

I’m not afraid of the hand – but I’m awfully afraid that the red-haired Noldo will take offence and leave.

“Be in peace”, - the Feanoring announces mercifully, and I hear by the sound of his voice that he was joking too.

***

I’m sitting on the cold steps and unwrapping a packet of cigarettes. My fingers are trembling – maybe from anger, and maybe – from desire to make something crash on the floor and weep aloud. Five pages in one day – it’s a piece of fun. I’m working as a journalist on the weekly supplement of a major newspaper. Like every person who likes his work sometimes I hate it.

Suddenly I hear a familiar tinkling and soft steps of the light boots on the marble on the landing below. Not this… it’s a bad time to see me. With a quick movement I grab the cigarette-lighter and the cell-phone but I have no time to get up and disappear. My wonderful Feanoring, my tower in black and scarlet, is already beside me. He squats down to face me. Looks closely.

“What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing special, - I shake my head and take a drag on the cigarette. – Just a couple of things that are wrong”.

Maitimo sighs with upset, just like a parent at his useless kid, silently saying “well, what is there to be done”. Then suddenly he reaches out his hand, pulls the cigarette from my fingers and casts it away.

“Doooon’t!”

“Don’t inhale this filth”.