Full of Wisdom and Perfect in Beauty by Gadira

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Farewells

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Near the end of the year, on a breezy day of late Autumn, Lord Númendil announced his decision to depart the Circles of the World. He was the first since his sister Artanis to lay down his life in the house of Andúnië, and though his wish was to leave quietly, the news caused a great commotion. Everybody tried their best to convince him to delay his departure, telling him that he looked hale and strong, that the house of Andúnië still needed him, and that in a few months he would be able to see his great-great grandchildren, but he just shook his head with a smile, as stubborn, in his own way, as his friend Yehimelkor had always been. When the time came to flee the approaching storm, he said, they should not waste their efforts saving him when there were so many innocents who deserved to live their own lives in full. He had lived a full life, himself: at two hundred and fifty, he had been witness to the reigns of four Kings and the lordship of four Lords of Andúnië, but he did not want to be there when the world he had known and loved collapsed around him.

In the end, he expressed a wish to talk privately to Amandil, who had done his best to appear stoic while the others gave rein to their emotions. Once that they were alone, Númendil stood before him, and formally requested permission to go sit by the cliffs at dawn.

“You are free to go wherever you want, Father. This is your house”, Amandil replied. “It has always been.”

Númendil gazed at the marble floor, a little ruefully.

“But my body will need to be carried all the way back. I am sorry for the inconvenience. Really sorry, my son.”

It was not like Númendil to leave things unsaid - and yet, it struck Amandil that this apology was not for the perceived lack of consideration in leaving a corpse so far away from its proper deathbed.

“I… will not pretend that I do not wish I could change your mind” he spoke, after a long pause in which he tried his best to steel himself for this exchange. “Your presence by my side since you returned from Lindon has been a gift and a blessing, Father. I do not know what I would have done if you had not been here to… anchor me.” His voice hesitated slightly, in spite of his best efforts, and he shook his head in shame. “But I know it would be unreasonable to oppose your will. This has always been the way of our people, and while we keep it and look at Death in the face we will never be persuaded to share in the folly of the Kings, and doom our people in a misguided attempt to escape it.”

And still, he could not help but think, there was a thin line between bravery in the face of death and cowardice in the face of life, as Yehimelkor might have said if he was among them now. If he was to be completely honest with himself, some part of him yearned to sit with his father before the rising sun, and flee the great evil that was coming for them. He was not indispensable, either, for Elendil was more than ready to take the reins, and he had adult sons who were founding settlements and giving birth to the new generation that would carry their bloodline through dark times. He also had a way with people which Amandil lacked -more often than not, he had the feeling that his own family saw him as an unreasonable tyrant who drove them relentlessly to work on his mad projects. But he had never been good at explaining his visions, and he had not been raised to rule.

“Without the unreasonable tyrant, many people would not be alive now, and many more would die in the future” Númendil said gravely. “You still have some important task to perform, my son, that no one else may do. Elendil’s time will come, but not yet.”

“I was just wondering idly”, Amandil replied, uncomfortable at his morose thoughts being revealed. “I have no plans to give away my life anytime soon. Besides, if I felt it was my time to die, I do not think I would choose to sit and watch the sun rise. I would do something that only a dying man who no longer cares for his own life could do. Like riding to Armenelos, and telling Pharazôn to his face what I think of him and his actions. Or- or sailing to Valinor, and asking the Valar why they have forsaken those who honour them.”

Númendil stared at him, then shook his head with a chuckle.

“I have no doubt that you will find some use even for your last breath. That is the kind of man that you are. I, however, am a man of peace, who was always ill-suited for these turbulent times. I only wish for a quiet death, and for my son to be by my side to hold my hand.” He sobered, and suddenly his expression was hesitant again, almost as if he believed that Amandil would be angry or refuse his request. “Will you be there?”

Amandil had to swallow a large lump from his throat.

“Wh- yes, Father, of course.” He sighed, wondering how to put in words how he felt. “I know what is coming, Father, and sad as it makes me, I do not begrudge you your decision. Believe me, because it is the truth. I- I have seen too many loved ones die old, in great pain like Yehimelkor, or in mindless fear like Amalket. I have also seen many people die by the sword, by knife or by fire. I would never wish that on you. And- “He was not sure if he should go on, but when he looked into his father’s eyes, he had the certainty that Númendil already knew what he was going to say. “And I also have much reason to seek your forgiveness, more than you have to seek mine. You sacrificed fifty years of happiness in the land of your beloved Elves and returned to the Island for my sake alone.”

Númendil looked at him reproachfully.

“You cannot blame yourself for a gift freely given. But if you feel the very human urge to do so, please remember who am I, and answer this question: where do you think I would have been happier, sharing hardships with my own flesh and blood, or living a comfortable life among strangers?”

Amandil did not answer. He had always been terrible at debating with his father, especially because Númendil had the habit of being so right that every other argument appeared foolish by comparison.

How was he going to live without him?

Before he was aware of what was happening, the lord of Andúnië found himself being pulled into an embrace. Too engrossed in his own emotions to retain the barest shred of self-control, he surrendered to it, allowing his shaking body to be held by arms whose grip was surprisingly strong for such a lean and unwarriorlike man. And then, for a moment, he was back in time, and he had never been dragged away by Azzibal’s men to become a priest in a dark temple, or sired a child in secret, or sailed to the mainland to kill other Men. He had never made the wrong choice when a man who called himself his friend needed his support to take the Sceptre, seen through the poisonous snake crawling at Pharazôn’s feet, or left the Court and his own lands to live a life of exile by the Eastern shores. None of those things had taken place yet, and he was still a child, a child who had just learned about death and was trying to be brave about it, though his father alone saw through the pretence. And, even though he had told himself a thousand times that he would never look weak in front of others, Númendil’s comfort had undone him utterly.

For the last time.

That night, as he tossed and turned in his bed awaiting the fateful first light that heralded the dawn, Amandil knew that, no matter how many years were left to him on this world of mortals, he would never cry again.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

“Oh, look, mistress, look!” Kilakhini clapped her hands like a young maiden, as she leaned back to inspect her handiwork. “A truly dashing man!”

Akahatzhin looked down unhappily. He was feeling self-conscious and also quite embarrassed, but Rini had grown so used to this attitude by now that she barely noticed it anymore. He had looked the same when she insisted on sleeping by his bedside and nursing him back to health with the sole help of her wetnurse, and when Rini kissed his forehead or caressed the few tufts of hair that remained to him, his longing to disappear under the covers was so raw that she had to retreat, feeling an indefinable mix of pity and frustration. Kilakhini had claimed that he would feel better once he was no longer so ugly, and though Rini did not think it was so simple, she had to confess that she would not mind if he looked a little more like the Akahatzhin from before the fire. The Sea People had a curious contraption called a wig, which was made of false hair, and she had given orders to make one that looked exactly like the hair he had lost. The unpleasant sight of his lost eye had been covered with an eyepatch, and most of the other burns were in places that the Sea People usually hid behind their clothing. Now, there was only the large purple blotch in his face, which even now he was running his fingers across as if it could somehow wear off from an excess of touching.

“It looks like warrior paint.” These words had not come from Kilakhini, and after a brief double take, Rini realized it was Nerdak who had spoken. He had entered the room in silence, unnoticed to all three of them until now. Akahatzhin stared at him as if he had just seen the ghost of an ancestor, or of whoever came to the hearths of peasants during the Long Night. “You are a warrior now. The gods themselves have marked you so those who see you will never forget who you are.”

The interpreter looked shaken by those words, and he started bowing low at the young man, who made a warding gesture with his hand.

“Among warriors, the brave bow to no one.”

Rini’s breath caught on his throat. Her own eyes were starting to prickle, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from surrendering to emotion. She gave Nerdak a tremulous smile.

“Well spoken.”

He just shrugged, and left the room as suddenly as he had arrived. Akahatzhin followed his departing form with his eyes –his eye, she still had to remind herself-, looking very much in turmoil.

“And spoken truly!” Kilakhini added, with a sententious nod. “If we were back home, my master would not have hesitated to give his daughter to you. A man who will brave fire and death for the sake of a woman deserves everything from her.”

The interpreter winced at those words, and Rini found herself wincing in sympathy.

“Leave. I wish to speak with Akahatzhin in private.”

“Yes, mistress”, the old woman bowed before she went the same way as Nerdak. Akahatzhin looked down again, but instead of feeling angry at his stubbornness, Rini laid a gentle hand on his cheek.

“She has a point. You saved my life, this should give you at least the right to look at me.”

He shook his head violently.

“That might have been so back home, my lady. But we are in the Island of Númenor, where I am still a slave and my lady is still the Prince’s wife, and he knows.”

“What?” Rini was not used to hear him speak in such a forceful way. “What do you mean?”

Akahathzhin shuddered. It was the first time in weeks that he was not under covers, and still, it did not look like he was reacting to the cold.

“Back when I took my lady out of the fire, I… remember being in great pain from the burns in my flesh, and almost unable to breathe.” His gaze was veiled by a haunting look, and she knew that it was all coming back to him as he spoke. “I was lying on the courtyard, delirious, when, all of a sudden, he… he took my mind. It- it was as if I was not myself anymore. As if somebody else had crawled under my skin. Then, the pain dulled, as if I could no longer feel my own body, and I was relieved because it was gone, but at the same time, I was terrified. I did not want him to see… I did not want him to know…”

A cold travelled down Rini’s spine, as she remembered the horror stories she had been told about the Demon Prince and his sorcery. A tiny part of her felt the urge to retreat from Akahatzhin, who might not even be wholly himself after the demon had crawled under his skin, but she reacted against it.

Of course he was himself. He was still the same stupid, fool of a peasant who had no idea of how to act like a hero even after becoming one. Who had lost an eye and risked his life to carry back the body of a woman, without knowing if she was dead or alive. Didn’t he deserve the same consideration from her?

“But, if this is so…” She needed to make a great effort to put her thoughts in order at this juncture. “If he could possess you, and then retreat into his own body again, and he saw that you… that you… “Why couldn’t she say the words aloud even now? “Why did he let me nurse you back to health? Unless…” Her mind was suddenly agitated by suspicion, and she remembered what the Lady Fíriel had said to her that day, when Rini was still trying to understand why she had been brought to the Island. “Unless he is trying to be rid of me. Like he was rid of the Lady Valeria, and that other woman who died before I came! He said it himself, ‘you have become my responsibility now’. He resents the King for forcing him to take me as wife, and he wants me gone. Oh, Akahatzhin, do you think he has spies on us? That he keeps us under watch?” He could even be gazing at her from behind his companion’s eye. She shivered at the thought.

But then again, she told herself angrily, even if this was so – what was she afraid of? They had already done so many things to her, that there was little else left for them to do. Not long ago, when her people were conquered, her father and mother sacrificed and her husband killed in battle, she had begged for death, and they had refused her that mercy. They kept her under surveillance, hid every object that could help her take her own life before she was delivered to the Demon Prince. And now that there was a possibility that she would be granted her wish, would she choose to cling stubbornly to a life of captivity, away from the lands of her people and the graves of her fathers, even at the cost of whatever brief instant of happiness she could still have? Would she prove such a great coward?

Suddenly feeling as reckless as a warrior in his initiation day, Rini leaned forwards, and kissed Akahatzhin in the mouth.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

“Fíriel.” He had swept inside her rooms before they had the time to announce him, the women who should have preceded his arrival all following him in an almost comical struggle to keep his pace. When he dismissed them, some could not manage to hide their disgruntled expressions, especially once they could see that she was only half-dressed  -at least according to Court standards. But she was the abomination’s whore, and the current layers she was wearing would be enough to get a peasant of Rómenna through the winter, so she focused on his obvious turmoil instead. “Fíriel, I need your help.”

“Help with what?” He sat on the chair which the lady who had been doing her fingernails had just vacated. “Oh, please, my lord prince, do take a seat.”

The irony of her statement did not even register.

“It concerns Rini.”

She sobered at once.

“What is it?” Whatever the woman might think of her, since those early days a part of Fíriel had remained ready to do anything for the barbarian she had once known as the Pearl of the North.

“She is in love with Hazin.”

Fíriel blinked.

“Oh.” She remembered the night of the fire, when the interpreter had braved the flames to rescue his lady. Back then, she recalled feeling a wistful sadness mixed with the relief of her escape, because deep inside she knew that nothing but love could have inspired this kind of bravery. But how could such a proud and fair princess love a lowly interpreter who had lost an eye and was marred forever by fire?

“She already loved him”, Gimilzagar explained. “And I think barbarians must have somewhat… different standards than Númenóreans on what constitutes marring. Among them, those who are not badly scarred or have lost some limb are just too young to have been in enough battles.”

Fíriel did not even have the time to feel relieved on Hazin’s behalf.

“But what will happen to them if this becomes known?” A horrible thought occurred to her. “What will the Queen do?”

Back when the Princess of Rhûn had been framed for the attempted murder of Fíriel, the pattern had not been clear, but after what happened to the Lady Valeria, Fíriel had realized that Ar Zimraphel was getting rid of anyone who could pose a threat to her. Rini had never wanted Fíriel out of the way as the others did, but what if the Queen thought otherwise? She had nearly died in that fire, a fire that the Queen had allowed to happen, and she might have survived the flames only to be caught in a deadlier snare.

“If this is indeed her plan, trying to hide things from her will be a futile endeavour, as she already knows.”

Fíriel swallowed. Her throat tasted like bile, but she refused to surrender to discouragement. Slowly, the vague lines of a terrifying plan began forming in her mind, and though she flinched from the thought, she also knew that she would do whatever was required of her. Once upon a time, she had been afraid of Ar Zimraphel, but after everything she had learned and witnessed she had come to the realization that, for what reason ever, she was the person who had less to fear from her.

“I will speak to the Queen. She has taken a liking to me, enough to protect me from all those who wish me harm, even from the King himself. If I try to learn what is in her mind, she may be angry, but she will not do anything to me.”

Gimilzagar nodded. His kiss was warm and probing, yet also tight with repressed worry.

“Thank you, Fíriel.”

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

“You could know what is in my mind without the need to grovel before me and engage in subterfuges”, Ar Zimraphel greeted her as soon as Fíriel was admitted to her presence, and even before she had finished bowing before her. At her gesture, every woman in the room stood at one and abandoned the room, their heavy silks dragging against the tiled floor. “But your Southron blood rules you, and you are powerless to resist it. It may not seem so when one looks at your face, but you are less from the line of Andúnië than they all think. Like your grandfather, who was his mother through and through. Those eyes, those traits that you all inherit are like a veil that keeps the truth of your heritage hidden from you.”

Fíriel raised her eyes and accepted the silent invitation to sit, refusing to be sidetracked from her purpose. Sometimes, Ar Zimraphel would drop the kind of information that made her interlocutors forget about what they were going to say and grow lost in different concerns. Though, at least, this should mean…

“… that I will not merely dismiss you or throw you out from my chambers, yes. I am glad to see that you have finally realized your place in this Palace, my child.” The Queen’s smile was so beautiful and warm that, if only Fíriel could have forgotten Valeria’s haunting look, she might have believed her the kindest person on Earth.

“Why do you persist in seeing my kindness to you as opposed to my treatment of them? They are but two sides of the same coin, Fíriel. To protect you, I have to destroy all obstacles in your path.”

This gave the young woman the opening that she needed.

“My Queen, you were right about the Princess and the Lady Valeria. They were threats to me, and if they had managed to gain enough footing in the Palace, my life would have been in danger.” She took a deep breath. “But the Lady Rini is different. She does not even pretend to love the Prince, and she does not want anything from him. In her innermost of hearts, she only wishes to be free.”

“Free to love that ugly, one-eyed barbarian peasant, yes. To think she would prefer him to a prince of Númenor!” Ar Zimraphel shook her head, vaguely scandalized. “But an animal would prefer the lowliest specimen of its own kind to the most magnificent of another, and so it is also with Men, I suppose.”

Fíriel stayed silent at this. As she and Gimilzagar had deduced, the Queen was very much aware of everything that had transpired+, but Ar Zimraphel would still not hear anything compromising from her own lips.

“Please, spare her, my lady”, she begged instead. “She means no harm either to the Prince or to me, of this I am certain. There is no need to be rid of her.”

“Oh, yes, there is.” Fíriel’s spirit sank. “But there should not be the need for me to do it, Fíriel. You are attached to her, and Gimilzagar feels responsible for her, and yet you stay there, idly wringing your hands and doing nothing while she seals her fate.”

The young woman blinked. Ar Zimraphel was often subtle in her speech, and yet this time, she had the impression that something crucial was escaping her.

The Queen sighed, as if exasperated by her slowness.

“Get rid of her, Fíriel. Make her disappear. You know how.” A perfect, ivory hand came to rest upon her callused one. “You have done it before.”

The young woman nodded tremulously.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

“The Queen does not want Rini dead.” Gimilzagar was sitting on a chair, while she paced in agitated circles across his line of sight. “She wants her gone. Do you know what this means, Gimilzagar?”

The Prince followed her every movement with his eyes, like a snake would follow the movements of its charmer.

“That is not possible, Fíriel. The King would never allow her to depart the Palace, and if she did so against his will, she would be found, caught, and executed.”

“Not if they reach Rómenna and the lord of Andúnië’s protection. Do you remember those peasants from the Andustar? They did not stay in the Island, but took ship for the mainland to start a new life away from the reach of the Sceptre.”

“The King could not have cared less about those peasants, Fíriel. He will care rather more about my own wife, if only because of the scandal. Even the lord of Andúnië will think twice before taking her in, because if she should be found in Rómenna…”

“The King isn’t in the Palace half of the time. The Queen is on our side, and while she holds the Sceptre, she will turn a blind eye.”

“Will she?” Now, the Prince of the West seemed animated by a renewed energy. “After everything she has done, are you ready to trust her so easily, Fíriel? This could well be a ploy to get Rini killed. At least while she stays in the Palace, she will be alive.”

“No, Gimilzagar. She will not stay alive for long. And the Queen needs no ploys to bring that about. She is dooming herself.”

“Not if I send Hazin away.”

“What?” Fíriel stopped in her tracks, shocked at the cold, purposeful tone of Gimilzagar’s voice.

“He can go to Rómenna, and then back to the mainland from there, while Rini stays in the Palace. If he is not with her, she will not have anyone to doom herself with.”

“And separate her from the one that she loves?”

“She is strong. She already survived the loss of her husband.”

“I cannot believe what I am hearing.” She was furious now, as furious as she did not remember being in years. “This is a woman who has lost everything, not only her husband, but her kin, her people, and her freedom! Would you take away the only thing she has left? And what then? Will you merely trust her to be strong, or will you also need to take all ropes and sharp objects away from her vicinity again and put her under watch? And what if she refuses to eat instead? Will you force the food down her throat, as they do with the barbarians who are shipped to the Island to be sacrificed?” Her voice was trembling, and so were her hands, she realized through the blur of red that veiled her eyes.

Gimilzagar was staring at her.

“Fíriel, I do not… I cannot…” Every attempt to start a sentence seemed to end in failure, and he shook his head as if to clear his own cloud of obfuscation. “I cannot be expected to go ahead with this mad plan when there are lives at stake!”

But Fíriel could not find it in herself to be understanding. Not this time.

“My life was at stake when I came here, Gimilzagar, and yet I came. Because I loved you”, she hissed, partly out of anger, partly to prevent her voice from breaking. “If that is an unacceptable risk to you, then perhaps I should not be here at all.”

And before he could gather his wits enough to call her back, she was gone.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

The barbarian had never been summoned to his presence before, unless he was needed to translate the words of his mistress. Even before he crossed the threshold of the door, he had already put two and two together, and Gimilzagar’s own blood curdled in his veins from the onslaught of terror that assaulted his senses as the wretched man prostrated himself before him.

If I could not hear what they are thinking, perhaps I would have managed to see the sufferings of the rest of the world as if they had nothing to do with mine, he remembered saying to Fíriel once. As if they did not matter. And then, I could have been a proper heir for my father.

Back then, she had done her best to smile, and made some flippant comment about her never being able to love him otherwise. But he did not think that the real import of her words had truly struck him until now.

“Akahatzhin of Northern Rhûn, look up”, he ordered, using the man’s real name for the first time. And then, because it was the only thing that the man needed to hear, before any elaborate explanations or questions he could easily misunderstand, Gimilzagar added “I will not hurt you.”

The words did not bring as much relief as he might have expected, and still, it was something. Cautiously, the barbarian obeyed. Gimilzagar gazed at his face, disfigured by irregular purple blotches, and at the eyepatch that barely hid the greatest horror of all. No Númenórean woman would gaze twice at such a man; once would be enough to fill her with disgust and nausea. But perhaps luckily, perhaps unluckily for him, the Lady Rini was not a Númenórean woman.

“Yes, you are right. I can perceive your thoughts, just as you can see my face and hear the words I speak aloud. I am not a demon or a god, but once upon a time my ancestors were descended from one of them; which, I do not know. All I know is that, for my people and perhaps also for yours, the only difference between a god and a demon is often whether they are well disposed towards Men or not. And I am well disposed towards you, Akahatzhin.”

“I didn’t do anything” the barbarian said, his voice about to break into sobs. He had barely heard what Gimilzagar had said, beyond the affirmation that the Prince knew what he was thinking. “I am loyal only to the Prince of the Númenóreans. I am the Prince’s humblest slave.”

“Then, were you just trying to humour her?” As soon as those words escaped his mouth, Gimilzagar already knew that they had been a mistake. The barbarian’s fear turned into something far more harrowing, almost unbearably so.

“No! No, no, no. My lady is innocent. Please, the Prince must believe me. She is innocent. I…” The thought was right there, an agonic urge to blame himself and take all the weight of the guilt off her. But there was also something else, a paralyzing grip on his heart and tongue that rendered it impossible. This brought an onslaught of self-hatred and a profound feeling of shame. Others might have found this puzzling, that the same man who could run into a burning building and brave almost certain death could not brave Gimilzagar’s displeasure for the sake of the same person. But Gimilzagar knew why it was so.

“Once, you lived in the wilderness, making a living of setting traps to catch small animals for fur and meat. You knew that some faraway tribes to the South were subject to the Númenóreans, but you had never seen one yourself” he spoke. “Until the day that General Minulzîr set his eye on your lands. He followed the time-honoured Númenórean strategy of gathering intelligence, so he could learn whether the peoples who lived there were unified and well-armed or not, or whether the lands themselves were worth the invasion. Then, he would approach one of the weaker tribes, offer them his friendship and help against their foes, and use them as a stepstone to conquer the entire territory. But there was a problem: he had no knowledge of the language, and none of the royal interpreters could help him with it. He needed to be able to communicate with the barbarians; otherwise, his plans were rendered impossible.” He made a brief pause, and noticed that the barbarian was moving in a strange way, like a bird tilting its head. “So he had to create his own interpreters. This was long and arduous work, and it could take months, perhaps years. And he could not wait that long: if his mandate did not include promising conquests, it might be cut short, and he would never become a governor in the Island. So he captured you, together with some fifty others. With the sole help of some Southerner who had traded skins with your people once and remembered a few words, you were put to the daunting task of learning Adûnaic, a language you did not only know nothing about, but which ould not be properly explained to you. Some could not even comprehend what was being asked of them, though after what happened to them, the rest of you understood. But it was still not enough to understand, was it?” Akahatzhin shuddered. “He needed someone who could communicate in both languages in two months. This was practically impossible, and the only way to make it possible was through motivation. One good interpreter was enough; the rest were expendable. So every week, you would be forced to watch what happened to those who did not fulfil the expectations. And every week, you felt that you had barely escaped those horrors for a few more days, until you made a mistake. But you did not make a mistake, and all the others did. And now you are here, and the only thing you cannot bear in this world is the sight of a Númenórean frowning at you. Because this would mean that you have finally made a mistake.” He knelt before the man to lay a hand upon his trembling shoulder. “Do not fear. As I said, I am not here to harm you, or the lady Rini. I am here to help you, as I helped those men and women from the Andustar, on the trip where we first met. Do you remember them? They are proof that I am capable of kindness. I do not enjoy seeing people suffer, I never have. Even though those peasants were all guilty of what the Governor of Andúnië accused them of, just like you are guilty of loving the lady Rini.” He sighed. “Do you know what? All I wanted to do was send you away from her, to Rómenna, so they would put you in the first ship for the mainland. I thought it would be the safest option for both of you. But Fíriel has been trying to convince me that to force you to part would be too devastating for Rini, and that you both need to go together, even though this makes the whole venture much riskier. In fact, to prove her point, she has refused to see me since that day. She thinks that my own loss might serve to teach me the importance of love, and I admit that her methods can be very persuasive.” His misplaced attempts at humour were all ignored, as he should have expected. Still, somehow, the shadows in the barbarian’s mind had grown less impenetrable as Gimilzagar spoke. He could even detect emotions that were not fear, such as puzzlement, incredulity, and a tiny sliver of hope. “Akahatzhin, if you stay here, you will both die, this I can guarantee to you. I am sympathetic to your plight, but I cannot protect you. If you both leave, there will be danger, but also a chance of success and freedom. And if you leave this place alone, there will be freedom for you, but not for the lady Rini. I know it is very long since anyone offered you a choice, and I cannot even promise that I will respect it, but I wish to know how you feel. Because, though Rini seems to have already chosen for herself, I am not so sure about you.”

“Yes.”

Despite the matter-of-fact way in which he had questioned the man, Gimilzagar had been far from certain that he would get a reply. So when the barbarian nodded so fast, he was taken by surprise, so much that he could not prevent himself from staring as if he had not understood what he had just heard. Akahatzhin seemed to hesitate at this, taken by a renewed bout of self-consciousness that made him teeter on the edge of destroying his resolve. Gimilzagar could perceive that his thoughts were turning in circles around Rini, and she was so beautiful, so radiant in his mind that even Gimilzagar was suddenly tempted to fall in love with her and crush his unworthy rival beneath his heel. But then, the other two barbarians floated in alongside her, the young man calling him a warrior, and the old woman claiming that Rini’s father would have given her to him. And then Rini was back again, with the memories of their first kiss, and a spark of pride, as precious as the first embers of a fire painstakingly built against the cold Northern wind, was kindled in his heart.

“Yes, my lord prince. I would choose to go anywhere with my lady. And if there are dangers, I would die to protect her from them.”

“I see.”

Just when it seemed the most radiant, however, his enthusiasm dimmed again, eroded by the sudden, terrible thought that this had all been an elaborate trap, designed to make him betray himself and her. Gimilzagar sighed. One step forward, two steps back.

“It is not a trap. You had betrayed yourselves enough before I even summoned you. If I wanted to be rid of you, you would be dead. Now will you, or will you not trust me?”

He did not try to sound reproachful, just forceful, because instinct told him that this was what the man needed right now. When the barbarian bowed, he knew that it had been the right choice.

“Well, then. You may go now. And in the meantime, I advise you to be careful, unless you want the force of events to take the choice away not only from your hands, but also from mine.”

Akahathzin bowed lower.

 

*     *     *     *     *     *

 

Fíriel swallowed, unsure of what to say, of what to do, even of how to look before the blue gaze which had always possessed the ability to sink deep beneath her skin. But now, for the first time in years, the gaze was warm, and Rini was smiling.

“My lady is very grateful to you”, Hazin translated. Despite having lived in the court of Armenelos for all this time, the barbarian woman had still not learned enough Adûnaic to say this much by herself. In her innermost of hearts, Fíriel supposed that she had never been here.

“You should thank the Prince”, she said, modestly. Rini shook his head with vehemence and spoke to Hazin, who seemed to hang on every word that came from her mouth. Before, Fíriel had always taken this for the diligence of a good interpreter; now that she was aware of the truth, she wondered how she could have been so stupid.

“My lady is aware that she owes everything to you. You persuaded the Prince to let her go with me. If you had not, she would have bitten her tongue and choked with it, as her foremother did when she was captured by the White Bear.”

And Gimilzagar would have seen that eventually, because he is not a monster, Fíriel wanted to argue, but in the end she shrugged and said nothing. Where did all this humility come from, anyway? At the end of the day, Rini was entitled to feel grateful to whoever she wanted to. And it was true that Gimilzagar had taken much longer to convince than usual.

Then again, a small, unpleasant voice whispered against her ear, his reluctance had not been entirely unmotivated.

“Listen to me. You have to be very, very careful out there. My lady, you must stay cloaked at all times, and your face covered, and you must not speak a word in front of a Númenórean. The same goes for Nerdak. You have to let Hazin and your wetnurse do the talking. And if things go… wrong, you must never say who you truly are. Even in Rómenna, you should not reveal your identity to anyone save the Lord of Andúnië himself. Tell him about me, and about what happened here.” He was going to be furious, Fíriel anticipated ruefully. “The Queen wants you to leave, and it will be at least a month, perhaps two, until the King returns. So if you are fast to leave the Island on the first ship, and do not linger in either Rómenna or Pelargir, you should be fine.”

“My lady says that she will never…” Hazin’s remaining eye was clouded, and he seemed to hesitate for a moment. “That she will never let them have her alive again. The Lord Nerdak, her kinsman, will cut her throat before that happens.”

A shiver travelled down Fíriel’s spine. Even having one’s throat cut by a young and probably unexperienced warrior, however, would be much better than the alternative, so she did not argue.

“Let us hope that everything goes well”, she said instead. “I will be praying for it.”

Rini smiled again. All of a sudden, before Fíriel could anticipate her move, she leaned forwards and hugged her. After the first surprise, Fíriel hugged her back, realizing that she could still recognize her scent from those nights they had spent together long ago, when the barbarian woman had just arrived to the Island and was feeling scared enough to accept her comfort.

“Thank you, Lady Fíriel, for everything you have done for me.” Those words had been whispered against her ear, and they were in Adûnaic, Fíriel realized with a thrill. “You treat me with pity, respect a-and understanding, and I am forever…” Her voice trailed away, and she disengaged from her arms to frown and ask Hazin something. “Indebted. I am forever indebted to you.”

Fíriel bit her lip.

“I see. Well. I…” I only wish you could have realized earlier that I wished you well and that we could have been proper friends, she wanted to say, but she realized how childish this would sound. How could a woman who was kept here against her will have been friends with her captor’s very willing lover? Whatever affinity they might have shared in a different world, this horrible world they lived in had made it an impossibility. If Rini was embracing her now, it was only because she already saw herself as a free woman –whether freed by escape or by death, she did not particularly seem to care. “Have a safe journey, Pearl of the North.”

Later in the evening, as she watched their cart disappear in the shadows of Armenelos, Fíriel found herself praying to the Baalim for the first time since she set foot in this Palace.