The Fire That Grew So Low by The Wavesinger

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The Fire That Grew So Low

To Nessanië daughter of Hallatan from Tar-Ancalimë of the line of Earendil, greetings,

My most beautiful lover,

To my beloved kinswoman,

My dearest Nessanië,

            If I seemed too willful, I apologize, but You must understand I meant you no offense! It is because I love you that I seek to protect you, Nessanië and not because of disregard for your opinions that I spoke thus I attempted to shield you as I could. Nessanië—

[Ink spilled on the rest of the scroll renders it illegible]

 

 

It was not a blizzard such as the old stories spoke of, but there was snow on the road, and none of them wished to travel.

“I have never seen anything like this before,” Nessanië said in wonderment.

“You would not have,” Linnael replied. “It has not snowed in Númenor since I was a child.” And she was the oldest of Nessanië's entourage, older than Nessanië by almost fifty years.

“It is beautiful.” Nessanië reached out from the doorstep of the waypost they had taken shelter in, to touch the snowflakes falling gently from the sky.

Their two companies had come upon the waypost as dusk was falling; it was fortunate that the stable was large enough to shelter their horses. Now many of the ladies gathered, at the doorstep; none dared to pushed past Nessanië and Linnael—after all, Nessanië was not only Lord Hallatan's daughter, but, though they turned a blind eyes to this, the Queen's lover (not now, not at the moment, but they did not know that)—instead crowding behind them, suppressing noises of wonder.

Nessanië could have stared all night and the next day too at the snow, but she turned to go, conscious of others waiting their turn to stare at this wonder. Immediately, the ladies parted for her; with a murmured 'thank you', she made her way into the warmth of the hut.

 

 

My dearest Ancalimë—

            You must learn that I need no protection. My chosen path does not bring me any harm.

                                    Nessanië.

 

 

Ancalimë sat by the fire her ladies-in-waiting had started, and the light threw her dark eyes and the cheekbones covered in layers of brown flesh into sharp relief. Nessanië heard her own intake of breath and turned away. There was no-one in the room but the two of them, Ancalimë, despite the stories, not being cruel enough to withhold her entourage from a sight which will come maybe once or twice in a lifetime; it was from her own self that Nessanië had to hide.

The trouble was that Ancalimë was utterly innocent of the effect she had; she knew she was desirable to outsiders, and used it to her advantage, every bit the cunning queen legends made her out to be, but when it came to those who loved her, the example of her parents had served too well. She did not—

Nessanië stopped the thought and turned away. Pitying Ancalimë was one thing she would not, could not do, not in their current war.

 

 

 

Nessanië,

            It is not protection. Do not be a fool; our interests may diverge, but that is not what will end us, your blasted stubbornness will. Dancing would stir up gossip; you must know the connotations of being a dancer, and they are quite unsavory. I love you, Nessanië, and I beg you, please reconsider!

                        Ancalimë

 

 

The stubborn set of Ancalimë's jaw—the tilt Nessanië knew she would see if she turned—burned in Nessanië's vision as she stared out the window at the snowflakes swirling down outside. Nessanië could not, would not give in.

Ancalimë's inability to let Nessanië be her own person had driven them to arguments and anger more times than Nessanië could count. And still, still she forgave her, but—

Nessanië chased the thought away with a quick, impatient shake of her head.

“Nessanië, I love you. Let it be.”

And there. The entreaty, the declaration that Nessanië so longed for.

Nessanië swallowed the lump in her throat and turned away.

 

 

[—MAIL—DELIVERED: ONE LETTER TO THE HOUSE OF HALLATAN OF HYRARASTRONI—LETTER REPLY CREDITS: UNSPENT]

 

 

Nessanië had known it was coming, the fight. And so had Ancalimë. The old patter, over again; the air between them had grown chill, filled with a tremendous sadness and anticipation for what would come. Unknowing anticipation, perhaps; they knew what the problem was, always, but never fixed it in time.

 

 

If ever I have hurt you
Then let this be said
Not in hatred did I act
But because of love instead

 

 

It was always Ancalimë. Nessanië knew she had part (or most) of the blame; she was ever contended to let matters be, to never fight unless she needed to. And so Ancalimë grew ever more heedless and controlling, and Nessanië ignored it, until she could no more.

And then she grew angry. She grew angry, and snapped, and then it was back to the circle.

 

 

Mother,

            If you could be reconciled with Father, how would you go about it?

                        Ancalimë

 

 

This time, it had been an—an order, so ridiculous that Nessanië could not fathom Ancalimë's reasons. It had begun innocuously enough, a rare evening spent in each other's company.

“Nessanië,” Ancalimë had asked. “Nessanië, will you put off your visit to your mother? I want you to attend the dance the day after tomorrow.”

“I promised her, Ancalimë,” Nessanië had replied lightly, drawing her fingers through strands of Ancalimë's black hair.

“Nessanië, please,” Ancalimë had asked, and her tone had been petulant. A warning sign, one which Nessanië had ignored.

“No,” Nessanië had answered sharply—a little too sharply, perhaps—and Ancalimë had flared up.

 

 

Log Book

The Center for Seafaring Research: Messenger System: Experiment VII [EAGLE]

MV
Eagle: 29-O
Recipient: His Royal Eminence Aldarion
Location: [Ship name]
Sender: Her Majesty Tar-Ancalimë
Subject: [CONFIDENTIAL]
Status: Assumed success
Notes: See log NVI

 

NVI
Eagle: 29-O
Recipient: Her Majesty Tar-Ancalimë
Location: Armenelos
Subject: [CONFIDENTIAL]
Status: Partial success
Notes: Eagle 29-O shows evidence of being caught in heavy storms; the protective covering of the message was broken and water damaged the message. Cover can be seen in Exhibit Room C, item no. 6. Partially damaged message can be viewed only with permission from the current ruler of Númenor (Exhibit Room [PC], item no. 9[PCC]).

Exhibit Room [PC], item no. 9[PCC]
Ancalimë,

            I have received your letter—hawk messaging is becoming more reliable—and I must say I am surprised. I would have thought that you have already learned the futility of giving love to someone who does not value it. I love you, and this is why I say you must learn from your mistakes, and mine. You, my daughter, must learn not to be tied down [ten words illegible] must see that your duty and love is above [five words illegible] and I would have no reconciliation now! I advise you not to waste efforts on your lover—efforts which will most certainly be rebuffed. The fact is that your lover will fade, too, if you [rest of letter illegible]

 

 

“No?” The tone had been deceptively mild, but there had been no mistaking the anger in Ancalimë's eyes.

“No, Ancalimë,” Nessanië had snapped, and she had been angry too, then, her nerves on edge. Ancalimë's hair had fallen from her hand.

“Well, then, I order you to stay.” Ancalimë had lifted her chin, arrogance and anger making her cool and distant.

“You cannot!” Nessanië had hurled at Ancalimë. “You can order me to stay, as Queen, only if you have reason to; I will bring it before the Council otherwise.” (And even as she said this, Nessanië had known it was a mistake to invoke Ancalimë's bitter enemies, but she was gone too far in her rage to care.)

“Then as my lover!”

And this had been the point at which Nessanië could stand no more. “My lover? You cannot order me to do anything as a lover! I am going, Ancalimë. I am going, this very day, as soon as I can, to my mother.”

 

 

Daughter,

            So. Not only men can break hearts and care not for others! If the lover you are referring to is Hallacar—then let it go. If the lover you are referring to is not him—still, let it go. Differences in temperament (which I infer is the trouble, as you refer to my own…problem) cannot be resolved, and will lead only to misery for both parties.

                        Your mother,
                                    Erendis.

 

 

And Nessanië had gone. What she had not counted on was Ancalimë following—or more rightly, turning up with her own entourage as Nessanië was leaving, and silently joining them.

Not to apologize, Nessanië had told herself, but for some other reason. But she could not prevent the prick of pride at Ancalimë—Ancalimë, who, despite the nasty whispers, loved her people and ruled well—leaving her duties to chase after Nessanië, for whatever purpose.

And then night had come, and with the night, snow.

 

 

My dearest Nessanië,

            You are quite right to have ignored that last letter, and I am quite wrong to be writing to you again. Nevertheless, I plead with you to hear me out.

            I wrote to my parents, Nessanië, and they both think that any difference in temperament is unresolvable. And, indeed, so am I inclined to think, seeing their unhappy wreck of a marriage—both of them too proud, and loving each other too little, and other things too much. Their story is ours, all over again.

            Look, too, at the sorry affair of your brother and myself; I am a proud fool, he is an obstinate jackass, and neither of us agree in the least with the other. And there, too, was love (forgive me, my dearest, and note the was!) but love was not enough to bridge the gap between us.

            And yet, Nessanië, I say that I love you. I love you. That is all I can lay before you, and doubtless it is not enough. But Nessanië, I love you.

                        Ancalimë.

 

 

“Nessanië.” Ancalimë's voice shook Nessanië out of her recollections.

Nessanië turned, slowly. “Yes?” She strove to keep her tone neutral, and hoped the equal parts of resentment and love did not bleed out.

“Can I ask something of you?”

Nessanië bit back the immediate 'no' which rose to her lips. Ancalimë's bearing was not commanding—she was asking, from one friend to another (friend, hah, scoffed an inner voice Nessanië resolutely ignored). So Nessanië inclined her head. “Ask.”

 

 

Hallacar,

            Forgive me for the haste of this letter, but I must know what happened between you and Ancalimë. Properly, not the half-told stories both of you love!

                        Nessanië.

 

 

“I want,” Ancalimë said, “to see the snow.” Her tone was full of curiosity, and her eyes sparkled with the same emotion.

“I—” Nessanië began, but Ancalimë interrupted her.

“I only saw glimpses of it, Nessanië, in out haste to seek shelter, and I wish to see more. Will you come with me?”

“Snow is beautiful.”

It was not an answer, and Nessanië knew Ancalimë knew it. “Will you come with me?” Ancalimë repeated, her tone a little pleading now.

Nessanië let her eyes flutter shut for a moment. When she opened them again, Ancalimë was looking away, refusing to meet Nessanië's eyes. A split second of indecision on Nessanië's part, then—“I will come.”

 

 

To my beloved sister Nessanië (who does not apparently love her brother overmuch!),

            You ask a very difficult question, Nessanië, and I do not know where to begin. Or, well, I do, but you have heard of that—of our play at shepherds and what happened after. And how I fell in love.

            She loved me once, Nessanië. Once upon a time, she loved me. I must believe that. It was marriage she despised—despises—I think, and no wonder, with such a terrific model as her parents to go upon! Forgive me for talking ill of our monarchs, but it is true. No wonder Ancalimë did not want to marry.

            But—and hear me, Nessanië—this is the but, she married me. And Eru knows I loved her and was prepared to give up everything for her! Everything. She took, and I gave. With ill grace. And that was not the first bad sign. Even our initial charade did not spell a healthy relationship!

            And still I could have given, Nessanië, and I did give. Life and lands and all other loves I had. But Anárion was the last straw. She left our son to nursemaids, Nessanië, and I would not have minded, for she is a busy woman, and I have enough time to spend with him, and I am able to fill the role a mother should take so that he does not feel the lack. But—Nessanië, but! She does not love him. She does not love him as a mother should her son, and for that, I cannot forgive her.

            And that is what transpired. There are more sordid and more amusing tales, of course, and I daresay all of them have a grain of truth, but this is the reason I found I could not love her any longer. You have never mentioned the purpose of this information, but please, sister, keep it private! It is not to be bandied about.

                        Your ever-loving brother,
                                    Hallacar.

 

 

Ancalimë rose and was halfway across the room before Nessanië could call her back. “Ancalimë!”

“Yes?” Nessanië thought she saw a flash of irritation as Ancalimë turned back—but no, that was her imagination, playing tricks.

“Your cloak. You will need it.” Nessanië hurriedly picked up the heavy garment and crossed to where Ancalimë was standing. Draping it around Ancalimë was an practiced motion, done with almost absentminded ease, but now, as her hand brushed the hollows of Ancalimë's throat, Nessanië's breathing rose sharply, as if she were a lovesick girl again, and her eyes met Ancalimë's.

They stood there for a minute, and it seemed to Nessanië that there was both anger and apology in Ancalimë's gaze—and she was letting her imagination run wild again. With an impatient motion, Nessanië broke free and walked away.

Even as she did so, she could feel Ancalimë striding after her.

 

 

Hallacar—

            Thank you! And do not worry—this information is for personal use.

                        Nessanië.

 

 

The ladies-in-waiting parted for the two of them, drew back and went silently to where they would not disturb their mistresses. Nessanië felt a quick stab of guilt at their presence making the ladies miss the snow, but shook it off. She would apologize later.

And it was worth the guilt, to see Ancalimë's awe as she watched the snow, to see the wonder on that beloved face. To see the joy as Ancalimë threw back her head and laughed, a full, beautiful sound.

 

 

Nessanië,

            Oh.

                        Hallacar

 

 

Nessanië watched as Ancalimë reached out a fingertip to touch the flakes.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, startled, as the white melted on her finger. The joy on her face was radiant and beautiful, Ancalimë looking younger than she ever could, in Armenelos.

Nessanië looked, not at the snow, but at Ancalimë. Ancalimë, whose cares and burdens as the Queen were suddenly stripped away. Nessanië did not want to disturb Ancalimë's peace. She should not disturb Ancalimë's peace. Were she a better woman, she would have left her words to another time, but she was not. She was Nessanië, and she could match Ancalimë, blow for blow. And so she spoke.

“Ancalimë.”

And oh how Nessanië hated the bright, eager hope which bloomed on her lover's face even as Ancalimë kept her tone even. “Yes?”

“I—” Nessanië paused for a moment, faltered. Then, she drew a deep breath, steeling herself, and continued.

 

 

Ancalimë,

            First, I love you, too. I never said that, did I? I love you.

            Second, Hallacar is convinced you hate your son. What have you done to convince him of that?

            Third—third, Ancalimë, know this: know that I cannot give you what you need. I cannot give up my entire self for you. I can compromise, Ancalimë, but I cannot give all. That would destroy me.

            Nessanië.

 

 

“Ancalimë,” Nessanië said, “Ancalimë, I know—I know this distance between us is my fault. I let you push, and push, my love, never telling you before it becomes too much. Maybe I love you too much—”

“No!” Ancalimë interrupted, sudden and fierce. “No, Nessanië! Maybe you let my—overbearing nature be, without comment, until you could bear it no longer (forgive the pun), but the blame is not yours! I am full-grown, and I should know better. Forgive me.”

 

 

Nessanië,

            I do not hate my son! I hate that he is Hallacar’s child. I do not like Hallacar (forgive me, I know he is your brother, but we are not suited to each other in the least)—to think I once loved him—and I begrudge him the fatherhood of my son, that is true, and more so because I do not know how to be a mother to him, not without losing who I am.

            On the other matter. If this be any consolation, I would not have you be Almarian, giving up yourself to love me. And I would not make the mistake of asking what you cannot give, as I asked from Hallacar. Again, I love you. Do what you will with that, Nessanië; ignore it entirely if you feel the need to. Your life is yours. I will not command it.

                        Ancalimë.

 

 

“Forgive me, Nessanië,” Ancalimë's voice was hoarse, her eyes glittering with some unnameable emotion. “Forgive me, my love. I have wronged you.”

“I—”

“No,” Ancalimë interrupted. “Listen to me, Nessanië, please. I do this over and over, I know; I cannot promise to stop being—controlling. I can only promise to try, Nessanië. That is not enough, I know. I am sorry, and I—I love you, no matter what.

“Nessanië, I am a fool, a fool who will never learn to let you live your life, and I can only apologize.”

 

 

Travel Log: Hyarastorni Waypost

Duration of stay: one night
Travelers: The company of Lady Nessanië of Hyarastorni
Signed by: Linnael, lady-in-waiting to Lady Nessanië

 

Travel Log: Common Mittalmar Waypost II

Duration of stay: one night
Travelers: The company of Lady Nessanië of Hyarastorni
Signed by: Linnael, lady-in-waiting to Lady Nessanië

 

 

“I forgive you, Ancalimë,” Nessanië whispered, “I forgive you, a million times over. Until the end of Arda, and my heart's breaking.” The truth of the words was written in her face, and it stretched out between them.

Then Ancalimë turned her face to Nessanië's. “What of—you will stay with me?”

“I love you,” Nessanië said, again. That was no answer, they both knew, but somehow, it was enough.

They stood on the step, and watched the snow fall, a fine white powder dusting every surface. Slowly, Nessanië's arm rose to wrap around Ancalimë. Ancalimë settled into her lover's embrace with a contended sigh.

And there they stayed, and none disturbed them.

 

 

 

[Extract from the diary of a lady-in-waiting of Tar-Ancalimë]

I know that discretion is one of the chief qualities of a lady-in-waiting, and that it isn't proper to listen to the private conversations of the Queen. But oh diary! How could I not, when the Queen's lover turned up with a face full of joy, and after she'd quietly, politely, and oh-so-distantly begged off from court, too!

Not that I can blame her. The Queen is a wonderful woman, truly, but all of us close to her can see how afraid she is of losing Lady Nessanië. And that fear makes her do rash things, diary. I wonder how Lady Nessanië kept her composure; I would have thrown a right fit if any imaginary lover of mine had been...influencing employers to keep me away from the career I wanted. It's hard enough for a woman as it is, without more trouble being stirred up! Especially for a noblewoman who loves dancing—I can still see Lady Nessanië's face when she realized what the Queen had been doing.

But that's all well and over now; the flurry of letters the Queen has been sending must have had some effect, because Lady Nessanië burst into the Queen's chambers as we were undressing her for the night, and embraced her! And then they kissed, and they were both of them laughing with happiness. Then the Queen turned to us and said, in her most regal voice, “You are dismissed for the night.”

Dismissed indeed. We all know what they're going to be doing—and it's not sleeping! I'm glad, diary, for Lady Nessanië and for the Queen. The Queen's been harried and hounded by that Lord Sorontar these days, and though she doesn't tell us (or anyone, really, but that's bound to change now that Lady Nessanië is back), it's obvious she's not holding up as well as she pretends to be. But Lady Nessanië will help her relax—no more working on missives at midnight, at least!

In other news, Celendir has promised me that...

[End of relevant extract]

 

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