The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 33: The Downs of Cardolan

Stymied for inspiration and spurned by the diamond to be set in the new Elendilmir, Sámaril agrees to accompany Elerína to the sea so that he may learn more of the Númenórean exiles..  On the way, they visit Elerína's eccentric cousin, Apairivo, a lord of the province of Cardolan, who has a fondness for wine, whisky and a special kind of rope.

Thanks to the skinks, geckos and chameleons of the Lizard Council for their most excellent feedback and encouragement.  Special thanks to Darth for name-wrangling.

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Ridges rose above the fog that filled the vales between them, giving the effect of long verdant islands that floated in a lake of mist. From the narrow window set in the thick stone wall, I watched the hazy disk of the sun rise above the horizon. The bleats of lambs and the answering calls of their dams joined the chorus of birdsong while a cock crowed somewhere within the walls that surrounded the manor. The fragrance of spring hung thick in the air: new grass, the first cherry blossoms in the orchards and everywhere the odor of wet wool and dung.

The smell of sheep pervaded this land. Our party of six had crossed the bridge over the Mitheithel twenty days ago and traveled along the Great East Road before we rode through the village of Bree under starlight and turned south at the crossroads. When our journey brought us into the heart of the downs, the captain of our escort sneered: "The stink of sheep shit. We must be in Cardolan.”

Elerína had guided her horse to walk alongside his mount. “That stink is perfume to me, Master Sigilros. It reminds me of the land of my childhood, now drowned.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady.”

“It’s no matter. I understand such base things offend the fine sensibilities of the Elves.” She glanced sideways at him and wrinkled her nose. None of us bore a clean scent. I hid my smirk at Sigilros’ comeuppance.

"Point taken, Lady Elerína," said Sigilros. "I'll admit the flock of Imladris is no less fragrant. Let's ride on and hope for a hot bath at the home of Lord Apairivo."

All of us yearned for a thorough soak in tubs of hot water. Save for our brief stay at Amon Sûl where we enjoyed such creature comforts, we made do with furtive splashes from cold streams and ponds along our route. We had ridden along the road that wound through valley until yesterday evening. When the sun sank behind the heights that swelled in the West, we climbed a path to the top of a ridge where high stone walls, dark and gloomy in the dusk, loomed upon its height. Iron-braced wooden gates that faced East were open wide, and beyond the fortified walls was a compound of several buildings with a large manor house, its lower windows glowing with golden light, as the centerpiece.

Our hope for hot baths did not materialize last night. Elerína’s kinsman, a bluff fellow with a pink face and thinning brown hair, hustled us along to his dining hall immediately after he welcomed all with open arms. The lord of the manor would not hear of us retreating to the guest quarters after we shared the cup of welcome, but insisted that we have “a spot of something to eat and a bit to drink.” The three Sindarin warriors, who accompanied us on our journey, thought this a splendid idea, especially Sigilros, whose travel-worn mien brightened considerably upon sampling Apairivo’s ruby-red wine, smooth of flavor but with a power that flexed beneath its refinement.

“Not bad for mortal fare,” Sigilros had allowed, but Apairivo saw the twinkle in the toughened warrior’s eyes and laughed heartily. He slapped the Sinda on his back.

“Then you are welcome to more! Here now!” he boomed to the waiting servants. “Bring a full goblet to our weary captain.” When the wide-eyed servants, who likely had never seen an Elf before but now had four in their immediate presence, balked at their lord’s command, Apairivo barked again, "Hop to it! These fellows won't bite you!" The servants sprang into action while their lord turned to the Sindar and me. "My apologies. The middle folk are such a superstitious lot."

Gaereth, now counted among Elerína’s chief maids, reluctantly joined the household staff, but the lord regaled us with his hospitality until well past midnight. When Elerína yawned widely, Apairivo at last relented and told his butlers and maids to complete the preparation of our rooms. He made a point of looking at the rings I had made for Elerína and myself. He reached out to take his cousin's hand and examined her ring closely.

“Such fine craftsmanship. Your handiwork, I suppose?" His blue eyes bored into mine with sharp appraisal. After I indicated that I had indeed crafted them, he turned a wide but stiff smile on me. "Well, then, seeing as how you two are as good as wed, you may as well share a suite." He clapped me hard on the back as he had Sigilros, this apparently being his favored gesture of camaraderie and followed that with an even more blunt comment. “Most unusual that one of your folk would take up with a mortal woman like this.”

I was not sure what he implied by that but I answered evenly, “The Lady Elerína is a remarkable woman among mortal and Firstborn alike.” And that was my truth.

Apairivo’s smile relaxed a little, but his gaze remained steely. “I’m inclined to agree, Istyar Sámaril. You and I must discuss your intentions toward my fine lady."

“Pairo, really now,” chided Elerína. “I am not a maiden nor am I one of your prize ewes.”

“No, you are neither, but you are my own dear cousin. Ragwort!” he called to a scrawny man lingering in the shadows of the hall. “Have your lads carry my lady’s and her consort’s luggage to the Rose chambers. Shall I have one of the maids sent to you, my dear?”

“No, thank you, Pairo,” Elerína said, her voice increasingly weary. “Just be sure Gaereth is settled nearby.”

“She already is.” Lord Apairivo kissed her cheek. He then turned to me. “Meet me in the front hall tomorrow morning an hour after dawn. I'd like you to accompany me while I inspect my crofts and have a look at the good beasts that live on them. We can have our talk then. In the meantime, I bid you both good night. But Master Sigilros, might I interest you and your fellows in a dram of whisky before I retire? It is said your people eschew sleep so perhaps you might be willing to keep me company for a while.”

“You mortals so often misunderstand us,” said Sigilros, his voice slurred by the strength of the wine. “We forego sleep only in dire need, but I deem staying awake for whisky to be of utmost necessity.”

“Then I do believe we understand one another! Come! To my study then.”

We left the Sindar in the care of the lord of Cardolan. Elerína was so tired that she was barely aware of our comfortable quarters of a small parlor which adjoined a larger bedchamber, each with a fire burning low in a hearth and sconces lit with oil lamps. The motif of roses was everywhere from the carvings on the fireplace mantles to the wool rugs on the floors to heavy curtains that hung around the large bed. While I undressed behind a wooden screen, its lattices formed by carvings of thorny stems of twining roses, bleary-eyed Gaereth helped Elerína with her bedtime preparations and then took her leave. My love fell asleep in my arms as soon as she lay down and remained deep in slumber while the sun rose above the green hills, already burning the fog out of the dells.

Walking back to the bed, I pushed aside the brocade curtain to gaze upon her face in repose: her dark eyelashes rested against delicate skin and her rosy lips parted with soft invitation. I resisted kissing her for fear of waking her up, but I wondered where she walked on her dream paths and what she saw as her eyes darted beneath closed lids. Did she already walk upon the wet sands of a distant shore? For that was where she was taking me: to the sea.

~*~

Her plans for this journey had been laid during the season of Coirë when cold wind and rain lashed the valley. She had taken it upon herself to bring me to inspiration, if I would not seek it out myself, and to show me what had shaped the Númenóreans.

In the days following the Feast of the Longest Night, I had turned my attention to the design of the new Elendilmir, starting with the diamond. The facets of the gem cut light into a thousand shards, but I wanted it to be more than just a glittering bauble. I wished the diamond to burn at its heart with the spirit of the Númenórean exiles: steadfast courage tempered by regret and wisdom. So I sought the center of the jewel, the core where I would ignite the spark to set the gem ablaze, but at every turn, the diamond eluded me, turning me back again and again to the geometries that angled across its outer matrix. Over the weeks of winter, I emerged from these thwarted explorations drained of energy and with no more enlightenment of the diamond’s heart than when the young Dwarven gem cutter had displayed his craftsmanship to me in Khazad-dûm. Perhaps that was the problem, I thought. The diamond had the heart of a Dwarf and that was why it spurned me.

To ease my frustration, I found purpose in mundane work. Some weeks after the winter solstice, word came to Elrond from Lord Anardil: a band of orcs had emerged from the Misty Mountains and harassed Rhudaur. At first, they raided isolated homesteads, stealing livestock and ransacking stores, but their predation took a darker turn when they began to waylay travelers. Lord Anardil sent his warriors to rout them, but the orcs proved to be cunning and elusive. Emboldened, they attacked a village, killing many, but they also abducted women and children. Our knowledge that these captives would be subjected to notorious abuse by the orcs was bad enough, but more disturbing was their penchant for eating the flesh of their victims, said to be part of their dark rites.

Elrond summoned me. “Lord Anardil has called for aid. He wishes to arm his farmers and herdsmen, particularly those in the more remote settlements of the foothills, and his armory is short. I have offered our assistance in weapons and men: Glorfindel will lead a contingent to the north, and you and your smiths will supply weapons. Pikes, knives, axes -- it doesn’t matter. Produce them quickly, Istyar. There is no time for your considered craftsmanship. Just give these folk the weapons they need.”

Steam had billowed again and again in the forge when Thorno, Naurusnir and I sank hot iron into brine. I pulled out the blade of an axe to examine my craft. It was neither graceful nor made of an innovative alloy. It was merely serviceable, just like the other weapons we crafted in haste. I pulled another axe blade from the furnace, striking the glowing metal with my hammer to send sparks aloft. I soon lost myself to the rhythm of my task, but the vague sensation that I was being watched caused me to lay aside my hammer. Turning about, I saw Elerína standing at the door to the forge. The hood of her cloak was thrown back, and she held a basket covered with a cloth: my lunch. She smiled and waved. I set aside my tools and went to her, pushing the door open so she could walk out ahead of me.

“How many this morning, Istyar?”

“Three axe blades and four pikes.”

“More weapons that can be used against those abominable creatures. You have been busy.”

“Yes, but they are not fine work.”

“You have high standards. The crofters and herdsmen will treasure these. An axe made by an elven-smith will be no small thing to them.”

“It’s good to know they’ll be appreciated even if they are inelegant.”

“Be assured they will be appreciated.”

After I shut the door to my office, she reached around and jiggled the handle. “I don’t suppose this locks?” 

“It does. Why?” Then I saw the invitation in her eyes. “Oh.”

I placed my hand on the door and spoke a word of command; the tumblers of the lock clicked into place.

“It’s uncanny when you do things like that,” she said, staring at the handle.

“Uncanny? I think the locking device is clever.”

“Too clever, I’m sure. Just like you.” She set the basket down and I pulled her into my embrace. She fitted herself to me while I pressed my cheek against her soft hair, still damp from her walk up to the forge and smelling of rain and rosewater.

“You must forgive me for being so forward,” she said, her lips a whisper away from my own while she reached around my waist to untie my leather apron, “but when I see you working in the forge – how your muscles ripple in your shoulders and arms, how your skin shines with sweat -- I can’t help myself.”

“You’re forgiven, my lady. If you can’t help yourself in these matters, neither can I.” Surrendering to my body’s urgent need, I lifted her in my arms and carried her to my desk.

Later, she sat on my lap while I leaned back in my chair. Although we had hastily readjusted our clothing, the top of my desk remained in disarray: pens and papers were scattered about the floor, but that could be straightened up in a while.

“I should return to the house,” she said, but she wiggled around and kissed me. “That was good, Sámaril. Quick but good.” 

“For me as well. A most welcome diversion.”

She glanced toward the side bureau where the black chest that contained the diamond sat.

“I probably should not be diverting you. Have you had any luck with the jewel?”

“Not really. It will come though,” I said with more conviction than I felt.

“It cannot wait much longer.”

“I know, Elerína, but you must understand the Eldar do not rush such things.” Lately, her queries regarding Valandil’s crown veered perilously close to nagging.

“And you must understand how quickly Valandil grows. He is to be crowned king in four years.”

“I am well aware of Valandil’s swift growth.” I nuzzled the curve of her neck in an effort to distract her from giving me further advice on my work. She purred with pleasure but remained undeterred.

“I have an idea, Istyar.”

“What is that, my lady?”

“It is my feeling that you need to understand what it is like to be of Númenor.”

I kissed the outer shell of her ear. “What do you mean? I have studied the history of your people longer than you can know.”

“It is more than lore I have in mind. You never have seen the sea, have you?”

“Only in my dreams.”

She sat up and twisted around to face me, the friction of her movement causing pleasant sensation across my thighs. “In over two thousand years of life, you have never felt the ocean’s waves lap at your bare feet, tasted and smelled the salt air…”

“I am not well-traveled.”

“I would say so. For one with such an expansive mind, you surprise me. I cannot fathom why you hide yourself away. You have the strength of the Firstborn and can resist that which might harm you in your travels, whether foe or disease. Why, you might have traveled to the Lands of Dawn and back again many times over by now.”

“Perhaps it is because my mind wanders on such strange paths that I am content to be a homebody, save for the times that I trade.” I leaned against the sturdy back of my chair and plucked up a memory. “I have smelled the sea, I think. The true sea that is, not a dream.”

“When was that?”

“Two long-years ago when I was in the Ered Luin. I had visited the Dwarves there, not far from the borders of Lord Caranthir’s former realm. When the wind blew from the West, it carried an odor that was at once fresh and decayed. I tasted salt in the wind.”

“Yes, that was the sea that you smelled and tasted. Why didn’t you travel on to its shores then? I thought your people longed for the sea.”

“Some of us do, but not all.” I did not elaborate on my ambivalence toward the sea for which I harbored both curiosity and dread. What if I were one of those prone to the sea-longing? It would be torment to have it triggered while I rejected the Straight Road for fear of the judgment that awaited me in the West.

“Here is what I propose,” she said. “You must experience the sea to understand what it is like to be of the race of Westernesse. Perhaps that will help you reach into the diamond.”

“Perhaps. But this stone of the Dwarves may not wish one of the Firstborn to walk within its substance.”

“Or it may be that the diamond knows you have not reached the proper depth of understanding for what you intend." She captured me with those cornflower blue eyes. "I believe I am ready to set foot on the shores of the sea again after these years in the valley. Will you come with me?”

I could have waited another year or another one hundred to visit the ocean, but this was not just for me. When I looked into her eyes and saw her heart, I recalled snowflakes that melted against the windowpane or summer lilies that blossomed only for a day: compared to the long rhythm of my years, Elerína’s life was fleeting by.  She did not have all the time in the world to wait for me to wrestle with my mixed feelings. So I put aside my uncertainty.

“I would love to visit the sea with you.”

“Then in the spring, you and I shall travel to Gaillond, spend the summer there, and return here in the autumn.”

“Gaillond? The haven at the mouth of the Baranduin? Isn’t that Gaereth’s village?”

“Yes, that’s it. Fisher folk have lived there since ancient days. When the Númenóreans returned to Middle-earth during the voyages of Tar-Aldarion, we added to their number. I think you will like it.”

“I think I would like most anything in your company.”

“Then I will start to make our plans!”

“What about Valandil? Will he come with us?”

“Elrond and I agree it is safer for him to remain here. He will be disappointed, of course, but this is really for the best. I expect he will remain occupied while we are gone.”

“So you have already discussed this journey with Master Elrond?”

She blushed. “I have.”

“You have been busy. Why hadn’t you said anything before now?”

“You have been very preoccupied.” I wondered what else she was planning for us that she had not discussed with me, and she answered that as she now poured out her enthusiasm for this excursion. “I would also like to stop for a while in the province of Cardolan where my cousin Apairivo lives. He has a manor there and owns land with herds and fields of flax. The linen for your shirts came from his fields. He will welcome us, I am sure. In fact, I will write a letter to him this afternoon. When do you think you will finish with your work for Lord Anardil?” 

“Three more weeks, I should think. A little longer if I continue to be interrupted in such pleasant ways.”

Her face fell a little. “You could have said ‘no’.”

“I could have. I didn’t want to. I am teasing you, my love. I will complete my work in under a month even if you bring me such morsels daily for my lunch.”

“You tempt me, my wild elf. I don’t know what came over me today, but I don’t want to distract you from your task. At least not too often.”

~*~ 

A faint knock from the adjoining parlor pulled me out of my reverie. I opened the door of our quarters to find a stout woman with frizzy auburn hair caught up in a snood. She carried a tray with a pair of cups, a teapot, brown bread, and crocks of butter and jam. She bustled into the parlor as soon as I gave my nod of permission.

“My Lord Apairivo said to bring your breakfast, master," she said, her voice thick with a country burr. "Your lady’s maidservant is not here?” she asked as she set the tray on a table near the hearth.

"No, not yet."

She tsk’ed with disapproval and then stirred the embers of the fire. “My lord will be leaving in an hour for the farms.” She flipped over the sandglass on the mantle. “He told me to do this, master. He says your folk do not understand time the same way we do. Now will there be anything else?”

Before I could answer to contradict her, that I in fact did have a good sense of time for one of my people, Elerína called from the bedchamber, “Sámaril? Will you please send her back here?”

The woman wiped her roughened hands on her apron and entered to the bedchamber, shutting the door, and then emerged shortly. She picked up the tray again.

“Your lady will take her breakfast in her bed. Best for her, I think. She is very tired from your long journey.”

“Here, I’ll take it to her, Mistress…?”

“Applethorn.” She handed the tray over to me. “I’ll be back straight away, master.”

The fire in the small hearth now crackled and popped, driving the chill of the spring damp out of the room. Elerína sat propped against fluffed pillows with a blue shawl draped around her shoulders. I set the tray down on a small table beside the bed and poured tea for her. 

“Good morning.” I leaned over to kiss her before she took the cup from my hands. “You’re pale. Are you not feeling well?” I sat on the bed next to her.

“Just tired, and I have women’s complaints. Better that it happen here than while we were traveling.”

“Oh. Is there anything I can do? I shall ask Mistress Applethorn for raspberry leaf tea. Nierellë swore by that when she had such difficulties. Ah. I’m sorry. That was indelicate, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t have mentioned her at all.”

“Indelicate? Stars above!” She rolled her eyes and set the teacup down on the tray by her side. “Why would I be offended that you mention your wife?” She stroked my hand, which lay on the bed next to her hip; the affection in her touch eased my embarrassment immediately. “Your wife and my husband were part of us – are part of us. I do not mind if you speak of her. In fact, I would like to know more about her.” She winced. “Just a cramp. I take raspberry tea for women’s complaints, too. So that is something Nierellë and I have in common, besides you, of course.” Rapping at the door sounded again. “There’s Applethorn now. I asked her to bring rags.”

The woman burst into our chambers; she carried a wicker basket, its contents covered with a checkered cloth; a slender, short maiden followed her, bearing a small tray with yet another pot of hot water, a cup, and a jar of dried herbs. The girl kept her eyes averted from me, and the contents of the tray rattled subtly as her hands trembled, but Applethorn boldly looked me up and down.

“Perhaps the master wishes to dress before we tend to his lady?”

I still had the wool dressing gown on. “Yes, of course. Please excuse me.”

“See, Pansy?” I overheard Applethorn say to the girl as I retreated to the bedchamber. “They can be gracious, these Faerie Folk. He won’t be putting a spell on you.”

I dressed quickly behind the screen and returned to the parlor, while the servants entered the bedchamber to fuss over my beloved. The dwindling sand in the upper bulb of hourglass informed me that it was time to make my exit. Another knock rapped on the door, which I opened to find Gaereth, her cheeks pink from washing and her red hair nearly plaited and wrapped around her head.

“Good morning, Istyar.” Then Applethorn and the girl emerged from the bedchamber. Gaereth cast a sharp look their way.

“Your lady is settled in, master…” Applethorn began, but then Gaereth interrupted.

“You are to address him as ‘Istyar’. He is a man of great learning and should be respected as such.”

I suppressed a grin, recalling how I had intimidated Gaereth in her youth, and that she now acted to defend my honor. The girl Pansy, her thin face unable to mask envy and fear, glanced at the green elfstone that hung from a gold chain around Gaereth’s neck, raised her hand and made a quick but strange movement with her fingers. Old Applethorn elbowed the girl, hard enough to make the maid gasp, and narrowed her brown eyes at Gaereth’s haughty tone.

“Istyar then. Come, Pansy. Now that Mistress Gaereth has arrived at long last, we shall be going. Will you be needing anything more, Istyar? Mistress Gaereth?"

“No, that will be all,” Gaereth said. “I will summon you if needed.”

Gaereth closed the door behind them and shook her head. “The lord’s maid servants are a rough lot, but I am here now! Forgive me for not attending to you sooner, Istyar, but I was so tired and my bed so soft and warm…”

“Please, do not apologize. I daresay you needed the rest. Come, let's see to Lady Elerína. She's not feeling well."

"Oh, no! I am sorry! Truly, I should have arrived sooner. Is she…?"

"Don't worry, it's nothing out of the ordinary. She'll tell you."

We entered the bedchamber where Gaereth curtsied before her mistress.

"My lady. Istyar says you are not well."

"It is nothing, Gaereth. Just women's lot combined with weariness from travel. Applethorn has seen to my needs for now. I see you brought your embroidery. Please sit by the fire then."

I hesitated at the foot of the bed. “I must meet Lord Apairivo soon, but if you’d rather I stay…”

She waved me off. “You should go. I’m sure he wants to interrogate you.”

“What?”

“Aside from Valandil, Pairo is my only surviving male relative. So he’s protective of me, and I expect he wants to learn more about you. I think you’ll find him entertaining. Perhaps too entertaining! Besides, I am feeling so out of sorts that I would not be altogether pleasant company.”

“Too entertaining?”

“My cousin is not your typical nobleman. He enjoys getting dirt under his nails as he says. And he also enjoys…” She smiled. “You’ll no doubt discover what he truly enjoys. Now you should go. He is not a patient man.”

“I don’t want you to be alone.”

“Don't be silly. Gaereth is here, and she knows how to be quiet." Gaereth glanced up with a smile from where she had settled herself in a chair by the hearth. "My cousin and her noisy family will descend on us tomorrow for a visit. I could use the rest."

“Then I will see you later.”

I threw my cloak over my shoulders and made my way from our rooms through the corridor to the stairs that hugged the outer wall of the manor. Most of the building was constructed of stone, but the many wool rugs on the floors and tapestries hung upon the walls eased the hard lines and muffled sound. However, the taps of impatient footsteps in the entry hall greeted me as I descended the stairs into the open space. There was Apairivo, pacing back and forth. He was dressed in rough wool trousers tucked into worn leather boots; a plain linen tunic hung over his thighs, and a cloak was draped over an arm. He sported a rumpled green felt hat with a pheasant feather stuck in it.

“Ah! Here you are at last!”

At last? By my calculations, the sand in the hourglass had likely run out when I first started walking down the stairs.

“Well, then, let us be off.” He swept his arm toward the front door in invitation for me to proceed. I walked out into the cool damp air, the scent of the countryside even stronger now. There in the court before the manor waited an open carriage. Sitting on the driver's platform was the same reed-thin man who had overseen the disposition of our luggage last night. A rusty brown horse with a pale mane and thick muscles and limbs was hitched to the carriage.

Apairivo strode past me, but instead of climbing up into the carriage, he rummaged around in a battered leather bag that lay on its floor. Metal clattered against metal within the bag. I wondered what he had stashed away in there.

“Good, good! Everything’s here and clean. Did you bring the rope, Ragwort?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“The hithlain rope?”

“It’s right there, my lord.”

“Ah, yes! So it is. Always have rope on hand, I say, and nothing better than rope from the craftsmen of Lindon. A gift to me from King Gil-galad, you know, may the stars shine ever bright in his memory. Come now, Istyar! We’re late! I swear you people have no concept of time.”

I said nothing of having to wait while he inspected whatever it was he inspected or of the time it took for him to find coiled rope that was practically before his eyes, but instead I just climbed into the carriage and sat beside him. Ragwort chirruped to the horse, and we were off, leaving the walls of Apairivo’s compound behind us to follow the rutted road that snaked through the downs of Cardolan.