The Embalmer's Apprentice by Lyra

Chapter 13

Well, look who wrote a new chapter after almost three years! So, off to Andúnië!

There was one thing to be said for the long journey to Andúnië: Towards the end, even I was looking forward to arriving. We covered the distance in two and a half days, and that meant riding very nearly from sunrise to sunset, albeit with breaks in-between to feed and rest the horses (and ourselves). The first night we spent in a crowded, unfriendly inn, making me glad to take to the road again. The second night, when we were allowed to sleep in a hayloft in Andustar and to share the farmer's family's dinner and breakfast, was rather more pleasant - but by that time, the day-long riding on the uneven road made my back and bottom ache fiercely.
My wife and daughters fortunately minded the journey less than I did. Azruphel was excited about the riding, the change of landscape, the many people we passed or met on the road. She chattered almost without cease, pointing out every hill, every brook, every orchard with great enthusiasm. Nimmirel only made happy little sounds, but she, too, pointed and smiled at things. She was snugly wrapped in a carrying-cloth that Amraphel and I took turns slinging around our shoulders. For us grown-ups, it wasn't entirely pleasant, as the cloth and the warm body of our daughter added to the heat of the day; but Nimmirel appeared to be happy with the arrangement.

At least our travelling conditions were as good as one could ask for. The sun was bright in the sky, the ground was dry. The scent of freshly cut hay was in the air; we passed many a shorn meadow where the hay was drying on wooden racks. Other meadows were still covered in lush grass, brightly dotted with buttercups and giant daisies, red sorrel and cow parsley. Andustar presented itself as a rich country of ripening fields and wide-spread orchards, of fenced paddocks for horses and cows, of goats and pigs feeding on public ground. We rode past small, well-ordered villages and handsome windmills. Folk were picking berries in the woods that we passed, and a couple of children ran after us to offer small basket full of redcurrants, which made a nice and refreshing snack. People were busy in the fields, too, weeding between heads of lettuce or picking peas. There were wide stretches of wheat and barley, still green but already heavy on its stalks. Occasionally we passed sites where grand towers on stilts were being built. I thought that they were watchtowers to protect the fields from theft, but Amraphel said that they looked more like granaries.
I found it highly reassuring to see everything growing so well; it made me hope that there would be no repeat of last year's winter, that the new and old granaries would be nicely filled and the windmills would have plenty of grain to grind.

Towards the coast, the land began to rise in gentle hills, and the road was paved again. We were approaching what Amraphel had called the most beautiful city in all Yôzayân. It was certainly an impressive sight. Beyond the city walls, we could see white-washed houses, a few of them thatched or covered in wooden shingles but most roofed with ochre-glazed tiles, glittering like gold in the sunlight. Parks and gardens added green spots to the white streets. And beyond the city, I could discern the sea, a broad silver sheet spread across the horizon.
We did not enter the city; at the city gates, the guards sent us along a road that led past the walls and up towards a small wood. I was surprised that they told us the way to the house of their lords without further question. I would have expected that we'd have to show them our invitation, but they did not seem to find it strange that two citizens who clearly were not there on business, with two small children instead of a cart of goods or at least a bag of tools, would ask for the way to the Lords of Andúnië. But perhaps they had been told to expect us. That thought made me feel queasy again.

"Well. Here we are," Amraphel said when we had passed through a broad gate in a low wall. The gate was open and unguarded, allowing us into the wood that we had seen from the city gates below. I wasn't certain what she meant.
"Almost," I said. "Not quite yet."
"I think," Amraphel said with a glance back at the unobtrusive gate, "that we have entered the property of our noble hosts."
I looked around at the wood, which was surprisingly orderly with hardly any undergrowth, even though the trees were so far apart that they allowed plenty of light to reach the ground, which was covered in short tender grass rather like a carpet. I frowned. "So this is... a park?" I guessed.
"So it seems," Amraphel said. "But you are right, it'll take a little while yet."

She spoke lightly, as if completely unfazed by the idea of our destination, but I for my part felt my panic return. I had rarely bothered to ask for work at the houses of the nobility back at home; they had all the hands they needed, and if they needed more, they would never give it to a lowly daytaler who came begging to the back door. And now I was supposed to enter such a house as a guest? My head was aching – at the mere thought, I first believed, until I realised that I had been grinding my teeth so hard that my jaw was beginning to cramp.
"So," I said, trying without success to make my voice sound normal. "What is going to happen?"
Amraphel half-turned towards me, her raised eyebrow dropping when she saw the look on my face. "We will find out," she simply said. "I expect that once we are there, a servant will announce our presence, and then one of the family will come to greet us. We're not important, so it will probably take some time. If they are too busy, they'll send someone to show us our room. We will be given some time to dress presentably-"
I could not help but groan. Amraphel gave me what was meant to be an encouraging smile.
"Then, there will presumably be some refreshments. After that, I have no idea. We are no guests of state, nor is this a formal visit, so I am not sure about the protocol."
"Then how do I know what to do?"
Amraphel reached out to me, and I took her hand as if grasping for a lifeline.
"I'll try to lead," she said. "If I know what to do."
I grimaced. "I'm afraid," I admitted.
She gave me an encouraging smile. "I know. I understand. But there is no real reason for fear. So let us trust that all will be well."

When we had put the wood that was really a park behind us, the road became lined with a hedge of rose briars in full bloom – and the house came into sight. They called it a house, but they could just as well have called it a palace. It had only two floors - in the city, grand houses had up to five – but it spread out to all sides. A whole village could have been placed within the walls, I suspected. A whole village could have cooked there, too: I counted twelve smaller chimneys and six larger ones, and that was just on the side of the house facing the road. The roof, like those in the city below, was covered with glazed ochre tiles. The walls and pillars were dazzlingly white, except for the ornamental tiling that framed the many windows, which were of generous size. In contrast, the shutters on the windows, currently thrown open, were made of a dark reddish wood veined with black, as were the doors. The main door was placed underneath a broad balcony, propped up by pillars that had been carved with leaf-patterns. That porch alone was easily twice as wide as my own house. On the western end, a white tower rose above the house, facing the sea that we could not see but hear – and smell, I suppose, though it smelled completely different from the sea in Rómenna: a touch salty, but without the fishy or seaweedy smell. Or maybe that was just overcome by the heady scent of the roses.

It was all very beautiful, to be sure, but it was also highly intimidating. The thought of walking up those wide stairs and knocking on the great rosewood door (if rosewood was what it was) and entering the house made me nauseous. Somehow, it felt completely different from the now-familiar palace at home. I had entered that many times and was no longer overcome by awe or fear – but then, it was not properly a private dwelling but a place of government. And I knew my purpose when I went there. Here, I was supposed to be a visitor, invited by the family that lived in his immense house, but that was hardly my place. Nothing had prepared me for it. Not long ago, even a position as a nobleman's stablehand or scullion had been way out of reach for me; entering such a house as a guest was completely beyond my understanding.

But it had to be done. So I tried not to show how inferior I felt to the porter who greeted us and opened the grand door for us, who summoned a stablehand to take care of our horses, who sent a servant to inform the family that 'the guests from Armenelos' (even the servants here spoke with the musical Eldarin accent that I had, so far, only heard from noblemen) had arrived. We were bidden to enter a chamber in which marble benches, cushioned with thick woven rugs, invited us to sit while we waited. The floor, too, was made of marble – the blue-veined kind that I had admired in the council chamber, last year. I goggled at the enormous hall that I could guess at from the entrance chamber. It must cost a fortune to heat this place in winter, I thought, but right now, the cool emanating from the marble was a relief after the heat of the journey. Amraphel unwrapped Nimmirel from the carrying cloth, handing her to me, and rolled her shoulders. Nimmirel looked around with as much curiosity as her sister, though Azruphel hid her face in Amraphel's riding dress when a young servant approached, carrying a bowl of water and a couple of towels. He put them down on a low marble table, gave us a smile, and announced, "My lords and lady will be with you forthwith. I shall fetch some refreshments; I will be back in a moment."
Amraphel had expected us to wait for a long while, but in fact, we had only just begun sipping on the lemonade we were given before we heard footsteps from the marble corridor. "Ah, here they come," the good-natured servant said, and held out a tray so we could rid ourselves of our cups.
We rose.
"My lords, my Lady Nolwen – your guests from the capital," the servant said, presenting us with a practiced motion of his hand. The way in which he introduced us confirmed, to my mind, that he did not actually know who we were or why we were here. Otherwise, he would no doubt have been less polite towards us.

"Thank you, Arcanendo," said old Lord Eärendur, looking relaxed and far kindlier than I remembered him from last winter. Next to him stood young Lord Eärengolë, his handsome face cheerful as ever, and a lady whom I feared at first glance. She must have been a great beauty in her youth, and was still good-looking in spite of her grey hair and the wrinkles on her face. Her eyes were dark and very keen; she did not even look particularly stern, but I felt as though she was staring through my eyes into my all too weak and humble soul. She was wearing a simple gown, but it was made of green silk with silver embroidery on it. Even without the silk, she would have been recogniseable as a noblewoman, simply by the way she held herself, by the self-assurance she radiated. Thus, even though she gave us a polite smile, I was terrified of her. I wondered whether she knew what kind of man she was greeting, whom she was expected to house under her roof for the coming week. I felt that honesty was my only hope.
So I went to my knees, clutching Nimmirel tight to my chest, and said, "Before you welcome us, your Graces, I beg you to remember who I am: A daytaler, a pardoned thief, an embalmer who works with the dead. Your ladyship, I do not know whether you have been informed of this. If you find that you cannot tolerate such a one in your house, I feel that it is better to send us home now, rather than abusing your hospitality."
I knew that I had spoken out of turn, but it seemed safer to address the matter now, before they could no longer easily rid themselves of my offensive presence.

The noble lady looked surprised, but not angry; in fact, the corners of her lips, painted a dark red like ripe cherries, twitched in amusement. "Your honesty is appreciated, but I assure you that I am perfectly aware who and what you are. We have discussed the matter at some length, and come to the conclusion that there is no objection to your presence in our house."
Lord Eärendur looked less amused; there was a line on his brow now that had not been there before, and the smile had left his eyes. "I did not have you travel all this way in order to turn you away on my doorstep," he said, looking from me to Amraphel to the children. "The very thought!"
Amraphel tried to help me out. "What Azruhâr means to say, lord, is that we are most grateful for the honour of your invitation, and hope that we may fulfill your expectations, whatever they may be."
"Really?" Lord Eärendur raised an eyebrow.
I nodded. "Absolutely, your Grace."
To my great relief, he gave a small smile. "Then I shall pretend that this is what I heard."
I breathed out, very slowly. "Also," I said softly, "I must beg you to remember that I do not know anything about protocol or proper behaviour, so whenever I do something wrong, please assume that I did it out of ignorance, not in order to offend."
Lord Eärengolë seemed to stifle a snort of laughter, while his parents exchanged exasperated glances. "I will take that into account," Lord Eärendur said gravely. "At any rate, this is an informal occasion, so I think we can go easy on the protocol." He held out his hands to me and pulled me to my feet. "Welcome to Andúnië, Azruhâr and family. I hope you had a safe journey, and that your stay here will be salutary for all of us."
"Thank you, lord," I said.
Lord Eärendur held out his hand. "May I introduce you to my beloved wife Nolwen," he said, gesturing to the beautiful old lady. "You already know Eärengolë, of course. His lady and daughter are out and about in the gardens, and we did not want to keep you waiting until they return, but you will meet them later."
"I am honoured," I said, for lack of anything better to say. I had not known that Lord Eärengolë had a daughter. I really had not prepared well.
"How old is your daughter?" Azruphel chimed up. She appeared entirely unimpressed by our hosts' rank or riches; she had been taking in the splendour of our surroundings with eyes wide with wonder, but not fear.

It appeared that she did not have anything to fear. Lady Nolwen smiled at her exuberance, and Lord Eärengolë even stooped to her eye level to answer her question. "She is ten years old. But you can still become good friends, even though she is a few years older, hm?"
"I would like that very much!" Azruphel announced, as if it was the most natural thing in the world that a young noblewoman would be her friend. I was almost shocked that Lord Eärengolë would not object to his daughter befriending the lowly daughter of a lowly embalmer.
"Excellent!" Lord Eärengolë said warmly, clearly unaware of my thoughts. Then he returned his attention to me. "It has been a busy spring, has it not?"
"Very busy, lord," I agreed, grateful for an easy question to answer.
"We can all use a week of peace and recreation, I am sure," he continued.
Lord Eärendur nodded. "I expect that you are exhausted from your journey, and eager to refresh yourselves. Your luggage arrived yesterday, and has already been taken to your rooms-"
Rooms, I thought. Oh my.
"- and I have assigned Arcanendo and Nienillë to help you find everything you need." A middle-aged maidservant, who had kept in the background so far, now stepped forward and curtsied. The servant who had brought us the refreshments earlier had, in the meantime, gotten rid of the tray and returned; he also gave a small bow. (To us!)
"Thank you, your Grace," Amraphel supplied; I had once more missed my cue, it seemed.
Lord Eärendur gave another gracious nod. "Shall we show you the way, then?"

We crossed the hall that we had already glimpsed from the entrance. It was even larger than I would have guessed, a cross between a banquet hall and a corridor that linked two wings of the house. It was very high – this part of the house was not in fact two-storied, as I had thought from outside; instead, the ground floor reached up to the roof, which was carried by marble pillars that had to be sturdier than they looked. There were windows on either side of the hall, letting in a flood of light. They were impossibly large, although in truth they were made up of smaller windows with supportive masonry in between. In each window, a circle in the uppermost arch bore the family badge, worked out in blue and grey and silver glass. There was no forgetting, I thought, into what house I had been brought.
The curtains were made of dark blue velvet, the tapestries on the walls showed rows upon rows of flowering trees, as if one were walking through a forest in spring. An endless carpet ran down the middle of the hall, providing the matching leaves and spring flowers. Long tables had been pushed to the walls underneath the windows; I assumed that for banquets, they would be brought to the middle of the hall, though where you would find enough benches or chairs to fill the entire length of the room was quite beyond me. There were chandeliers for hundreds of candles, and there were four huge fireplaces – well, that accounted for some of the chimneys! - although of course none of them were lit today.

Underneath the windows stood sculptures that probably represented the Lords and Ladies of Andúnië from days past. They had been depicted in very different ways – some looked stern, even haughty, others thoughtful or gentle; some wore military dress, one drawing his sword, one holding a proud banner that unfurled behind his back; one held a harp, another had a fledgling tree in his hands. The sculptures of the past Ladies of Andúnië, standing on the other side of the hallway, were no less intriguing. One lady held a proud (if miniature) ship under her arm, one had a hawk on her wrist, one carried a bunch of herbs or flowers, another was putting an arrow to her bow. The last lady we passed held the crown of Yôzayan in her hands. That, I assumed, must be the lady that Amraphel had told me about, who would have been queen if the law had been different in those days. We had walked backwards through history, so to say.
As if all that wasn't yet impressive enough, the most magnificent thing about the hall was its ceiling. "Look, Atto! It's Azrubêl*!" Azruphel cried in delight.
It was. Up in the vaulted ceiling, a gigantic mosaic from billions of tiny coloured stones showed Azrubêl upon his ship, pointing a silver spear at an incredibly monstrous, incredibly huge black dragon. I couldn't stop myself: I just had to walk back down the hall to stare up at the marvellous scene, craning my neck to see every detail – the glinting scales of the dragon, its fierce claws and merciless teeth; the birds that flew around the bright ship, arrayed like a spearhead to help in the fight against the terrible foe. Rays of light seemed to come from the Silmaril upon the mast, and the clouds behind the battling antagonists had been crafted so masterfully that they looked quite real, as insubstantial as smoke and steam, even though I knew that they were made of stone and plaster.
I almost fell over in my admiration of the mosaic. Lord Eärendur caught me with a hand on my shoulder.
"As a boy, I spent many an hour lying on the carpet, looking up at that mosaic," he reminisced. "I dreamed of what it would be like to be aboard a flying ship, and to slay a dragon or to hunt with the Moon."
I could not imagine that Lord Eärendur had ever been a boy, or done something as undignified as lain down in his father's magnificent banquet hall to stare up at the mosaic. It was as absurd as imagining the king as a child with a pony and a wooden sword. I wondered what it must be like, growing up in a house like this; but try as I might, I could not begin to imagine it. I would have been terrified by all these ancestors, I thought, and by the knowledge of what they must expect. But if you had Azrubêl's blood in your veins, you probably felt quite satisfied under the protective keel of his ship, and never once doubted your ability to live up to such expectations.

We were given a whole set of rooms to ourselves. I would already have been content with the antechamber, which was apparently where the personal servants of the family's usual guests would normally sleep: the beds there were looking perfectly comfortable, decked out in fine linens and eiderdown coverlets, and the chest of drawers could easily have taken the clothing we had brought along. But instead, we were supoosed to sleep in a huge carved bed that you only reached when you first walked through a sitting room with its own fireplace, and a round table for private dinners, and a couch upholstered with brocade. The windows went out west to overlook a balcony, and some part of the gardens, and the sea. Through another door, around the corner, was the bedroom. The bed was easily big enough for a family of six or more, but still they had put a small bed for Azruphel next to it, and a cradle for Nimmirel. Every piece of fabric was artfully embroidered: The snow-white linens on the bed, the blue curtains, the covering on the chest of drawers, the towels, the decorative pillows, the tablecloth. The bedroom ceiling had been painted to resemble the night sky, and if the stars had not been painted with real silver, they certainly imitated it very convincingly. The candleholders also had a suspiciously silvery glint. There were pretty things – little sculptures, intarsia, a vase in which the flowers had been arranged, like in the silly story Amraphel had read with our neighbours' daughters in winter – all over the place. I suspected that the contents of one of these rooms would have sufficed to keep me fed for the rest of my life, if I were to sell them. (Though no doubt the rest of my life would be very short, if I were to take and sell any of these things.) Again, I was reduced to gaping in astonishment. Part of me, I admit, was a little excited at the idea of living, for a few days, like a man of nearly endless funds and the power to match them. The other part reminded me sternly that I was not such a man, and if I let the luxuries surrounding me get to my head, I would doubtlessly be in for a quick fall and a hard crash.
"I... I don't know what to say," I said just for the sake of stopping to stare at everything, dumbfounded. "This is very beautiful. I hope you did not give us your best guest room."
Lord Eärendur's lip twitched into a grin. For the first time, I could guess where Lord Eärengolë had got his happy temper.
"Our best guest room is always reserved for my cousin on the throne, should he surprise us with a visit," the old lord said drily. My insides gave a little jolt. My cousin on the throne, what a way to think of the king!
"You'll have to do with the second best," Lord Eärendur continued with a wink. It suggested that he wasn't entirely serious, but he might as well have been.

Even the lavatory was beautiful in this house, as I found out once I needed to go there. Ornamental tiles on the walls and the floor. A nice woollen carpet to keep your feet warm. Basins made of marble, an ingenious pumping mechanism (with a very handsome brass pump) to bring up as much water as you might need to wash away your business and clean your hands afterwards. The soap was creamy and smelled of roses. The towels were thick and impossibly soft and smelled of lavender. Dried lavender also hung from the ceiling. Where I came from, dried herbs were used for medicine, and it didn't matter what they looked like. Here, lavender was apparently grown in different shades of pink, lilac and blue, and then woven into braids and wreaths, just so it would look especially pretty as it absorbed the smells of the lavatory. My gaze wandered out of the window (real glass, even here). Beyond the cliffs, the sea moved in gentle little waves, fishing boats dancing between them. A wide expanse of beach stretched out between the ends of the bay. The tide was clearly quite low, and small figures were moving on the beach, especially among the rocks. The golden light, the white boats, the lush green vegetation, the wanderers on the beach: Everything looked friendly and peaceful and welcoming. I took a deep breath, and tried to relax. Lavender was supposed to calm your nerves, after all.

We were ready for dinner long before dinner was ready. Amraphel gave Nimmirel her long-awaited drink of milk while Nienillë combed her hair and braided it in an elaborate manner. I declined Arcanendo's offer to do the same for me; I was worried that the texture of my hair, no doubt very different from that of noble folk, would disgust him. He was probably already disgusted after unpacking my travelling chest – my simple loincloths, bare of embroidery; my tunics in fading colours; my undershirts of simple linen, precious in my neighbourhood but coarse here, where even the servants slept on the finest linens and wore stockings of the most delicate weave. Arcanendo and Nienillë were dressed impeccably, and neither his tunic nor her gown looked the least bit washed out. I wondered whether they had to pay for their clothing, or whether it was provided by their lords. Blue was an expensive colour after all. I now wished that I had allowed for my own clothing to be re-dyed. Amraphel had asked me about it, but I had considered it an unnecessary luxury and had preferred to keep what was left of my savings. But here, in these tasteful and cultured surroundings, I was suddenly embarrassed by the fading chestnut colour of my good tunics.
Then again, there was no denying that I was a very simple man, and there was probably no point in pretending otherwise.

Since Azruphel was restless after the long journey, eager to explore her new surroundings and threatening to wear out the precious fabric of the couch with her fidgeting, it sounded like a good idea whe Arcanendo asked whether we wanted to join our hosts in the gardens. They really were gardens, with different parts for different purposes. We came through a courtyard in which heat-loving trees in great copper pots stood protected from the sea winds, then to the kitchen gardens where useful herbs grew behind neatly trimmed boxwood hedges, and thence to a terrace among colourful borders of ornamental plants where we found the nobles. It was overlooking the beach and the sea below, and also allowed a glance at other parts of the gardens – a long lawn, an orchard of fruit trees, further orgnamental hedges.
The family were sitting in comfortable-looking wicker-chairs, except for Lord Eärendur, who was kicking a ball around with his granddaughter. Again, I found it strange to picture a nobleman doing something so ordinary. Somehow I had imagined that noblemen were only ever doing dignified and important things - even at home, with their families, since obviously their families would also be noble and dignified. Instead, Lord Eärendur had to stumble after the ball (which was not even made of silver or gold, but of some kind of animal's hide) in his attempts to keep it off the ground, a task made harder because the little girl was not a particularly proficient player.

Lord Eärengolë hailed us, and his father interrupted the game. He bent down to the girl and said something, which made her nod eagerly. She took his hand, and they came walking over to us.
"Ah, you are already done! I am glad that you have some time to enjoy this beautiful evening with us," Lord Eärendur said. He did look glad, too. There was a little sweat on his brow after the ball game, but he was radiating satisfaction, a man entirely at peace with himself and his place in the world. "Please meet my granddaughter, Eärrimë. Eärrimë, these are our guests from the capital: Azruhâr, his wife Amraphel, their daughters Azruphel and Nimnimirel." The girl curtsied – to us! I sank into a low bow.
"Young lady," I said.
"I am pleased to make your acquaintance," Eärrimë said. She spoke slowly, as if she didn't speak our language very well. Everybody here had a sing-song accent, but hers was the heaviest.
"Playing with Azruphel will be a good way to improve your Adûnaic, won't it?" Lord Eärendur told his granddaughter, confirming my thoughts.
"Yes, Grandfather," little Eärrimë replied, and then turned to Azruphel. "Do you like to play ball?"
"Of course!" Azruphel replied emphatically.
Eärrimë turned to her grandfather and said something in Eldarin. Lord Eärendur did not berate her for it, but replied in Adûnaic, "I will look after our grown-up guests first, but I can join you later."
The two girls zoomed off to pick up the abandoned ball, and Lord Eärendur returned his attention to us. "Come, sit with us. Meet my daughter-in-law."

His daughter-in-law did not look at all as I would have imagined her. Somehow, I had been under the illusion that all noblewomen must be dainty creatures of great beauty, but Lady Vanimë of Eldalondë had a rather ordinary face - too round to be called beautiful, with a short, stubby nose and a broad forehead. Beauty was not everything, of course, and she had a nice, friendly, open face, but I was honestly surprised that someone so, well, normal had caught the eye of Lord Eärengolë, who in his turn looked like every woman's dream. I briefly wondered whether theirs was a marriage of love, or one of politics; but from the way in which their hands were linked, and from the joy in Lord Eärengolë's voice as he introduced her to us, it seemed that they really were very fond of each other. And their little daughter would obviously become a big sister in good time: Lady Vanimë's gown, belted underneath her breasts by a narrow girdle stitched with pearls, revealed the well-rounded belly of a woman well into her third trimester. We offered our congratulations.
"Yes," Lord Eärendur said with a sigh, "I had hoped to retire from the council next summer and let Nolo take my place, but with the new child on its way, they will naturally stay here for several years to come."
I was surprised that even a nobleman wanted to escape council duty, but it turned out that Lord Eärendur didn't so much mind the council as rather the place. "I have to spend much more time in Armenelos than I want to," he explained. "No offense to your home town, but it is a place that seems to make people harder than they need to be. It certainly makes me harder, and I do not like it."

I was puzzled into silence. I did not have the impression that anything was wrong with Arminalêth, or that the city made anybody different than they wanted to be, but then, how many other places did I know? If I had a terrace like this, in a house like this, overlooking the glittering sea and the pretty white city, I probably would not want to leave it, either. Amraphel continued to make conversation, and I was grateful to lean back and let the friendly voices, the occasional shrieks of laughter from the girls, the steady rushing sound of the sea wash over me. There was such a wideness about the place, I thought. The sky and sea stretched out bright and endless, and the gentle breeze was just strong enough to make the warmth pleasant rather than oppressive. Maybe the lavender was beginning to take effect: I felt my body unclench, my breath slow down. Perhaps I could get through this week without incurring anyone's wrath. It didn't seem quite as unlikely as it had felt mere hours ago. Under such a sky, there might be room even for an intruder like me.
"I think Azruhâr has fallen asleep," I heard Lord Eärengolë say.
I opened my eyes, embarrassed. "Yes," I admitted. "Azruhâr has been dreaming."

Chapter End Notes

*Azrubêl is the Adûnaic form of Eärendil. I know, the mix of Adûnaic and Eldarin names is a pain in the rear, but I cannot (yet?) think of a more elegant solution.