Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

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Chapter 11. Deliveries.

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When Gwen woke up the next morning, she was immediately confronted by three worried furry faces. She rolled her eyes. "All right, don't worry! I'll feed you," she mumbled as she got up off the floor, sending the cats scurrying. She made breakfast, which Feanor commented on enthusiastically, "Better food than I've had in years!" he said.

Then he set her to cleaning the living room, which was no easy task, she realized as he went out into the workshop. She went about dusting, straightening things. She wiped grime and cobwebs from the windows, swept the dust out the door, beat the dirt from the cushions and rug, took out the hashes, then started on the bookshelves.

Books had always enthralled Gwen, and nothing got her more excited than visiting the library. She would walk deep into the familiar maze of stacks until the thick tomes insulated her from all sound, then she would run her fingers along their spines. She would walk to her favorite sections, fingers hovering over the pages, closing her eyes and feeling the essence of the story thrum through her fingers and her body. She was many times able to identify the kind of story it was even with her eyes closed.

Feanor's books were aged, bound in different color cracking leathers, their names stamped in a foreign script in gold or black. Her fingers hovered over their spines, as their stories showed in her mind's eye - epic stories, as epic as the ones he had told her the night before. She came upon an English title - Paradise Lost - and she laughed quietly to herself. Then she was disturbed by heated voices raised in the workshop. She didn't know what to do - should she go outside, or stay? Either way risked incurring the wrath of her master. She went to the door, trying to discern what was going on. There was definitely anger in their tones, but to interfere in an argument - she didn't know what would happen. Then something crashed, and, startled, she flung open the door. She stood there, bewildered, seeing that Feanor had a sword drawn, as did the red-haired elf standing opposite him. 

"Finrod!" she gasped.

"Hello, Gwen," he said tersely as he kept his eyes on Feanor. "How do you find life in Valinor?"

"Finrod," Feanor said through gritted teeth, "I demand that you leave here at once!"

"No - I must talk to Gwen," he said, sword point unwavering.

Feanor glanced at Gwen, then back at Finrod. "I have just quarrel with you."

"Perhaps only perceived, Uncle."

"Uncle! He's your uncle?" Gwen demanded.

Finrod shrugged. "Half-Uncle, really. You'll find more people here are related than you would think."

Feanor's eyes were dangerous. "Very well. You may speak with one another. But I must be there."

"Have no fear, Uncle. I can't make off with her - I know that."

"To the kitchen Gwen," Feanor said, "And I'll be following."

Finrod sheathed his sword and followed Gwen. She set a kettle on the stove to boil for tea as Feanor came into the kitchen, wiping his greasy hands, sitting across the broad table from Finrod.

Finrod looked around. "Really, Uncle, this place is far better than that shack you used to live in."

Feanor smiled smugly. "I'm sure it's better than where you're living - you've been gone so long I've heard your summer home was sold."

Finrod rolled his eyes. "I've bought a new place here in the city. I left money in the bank, so interest has accrued over the past thousand years." He glanced at Gwen. "You might like it there - it's designed by one of our most famous architects, who returned here from Earth nigh over 500 years ago. He designed the Alhambra in Spain."

"Ah." Gwen nodded knowingly.

Feanor's brow was creased. "You bought the Lasse-lenta home, in the Medling District? I wasn't aware it was for sale."

Finrod shrugged. "It wouldn't matter to you anyway."

"That's true."

Finrod shifted his attention to Gwen as she stood there. "I thought something was going to happen," he said. "I just didn't know what. I'm sorry."

"You didn't know?" she burst. "Finrod, everything I knew was destroyed and my family was led into slavery. How couldn't you see that coming?"

"I know it must have been hard - "

"Hard? Hard?" She felt like a dam going to burst, all the sights she had seen, all the anger she had felt rising to the surface. "You have no idea - " Furious, she whirled around to the stove, trying desperately to contain herself before she lost the only person she knew on this desolate world. Suppressing the tumult of emotions writhing within her, she poured hot water into handle-less teacups and set them firmly on the table before the Elves.

Looking at his tea, Finrod said quietly, "I've found where your family is, Gwen."

"You have?" Relief flooded through her. "How?"

"I looked in the Hall of Records, and that's how I found you, as well."

"Where are they?"

"Your family was split, Gwen. Your father was sold to a merchant who lives in Sous, but I'm unaware where that is. It must've been built since I was last here."

Feanor considered this. "Southwest of here, around the Bordering Mountains, in the desert."

"Your mother was sold to the Gona, a group of monks dedicated to Irmo, the Vala of dreams and visions. She's working as a cook for them, in the northern highlands, which is, incidentally, part of my realm."

Gwen frowned. "Your realm?"

Finrod rolled his eyes once more. "The United States has states, ruled by governors, right? I'm essentially the governor of the Northern provinces."

"Why do you live here, then?"

Feanor spoke up. "All lords are required to spend certain amounts of time here in the capital, and usually are by law required to be here in the late months of summer, until the Feast of Yavanna."

Finrod continued. "Since it's my realm, I can keep tabs on her. The monks are gently and won't treat her badly. Your brother, however - your brother was sold to Arfiniel, a large labor company - which means he could be doing work in either the various factories around the city, or in plantations to the west."

Gwen started. "If he's here in the city - "

Feanor interrupted her quietly. "Don't try. They wouldn't let him out of the factory, or you in. We have no way of knowing where he could be."

Finrod took a final swig of tea and pulled out a silver watch. Gwen's eyes widened as she recognized it, and he slid it across the table to her. She picked it up, eyes smarting. Her grandfather's world-finding watch. "How-"

"I stole it from you the day you showed it to me, just in case. I figure you would appreciate it more than I."

"Thank you," she said, holding it tenderly.

Then Finrod checked his own watch. "Well, I really must go - I have some pressing engagements. I hope I have not kept you too long from your work, Uncle." He stood and bowed, holding his hand over his heart, as Feanor stiffly did the same.

"Show him to the door, Gwen," he said, and she did so, opening it for Finrod. He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked deep into her eyes. "All of us have our own share of tragedy," he said. "Feanor has had his, and you yours. I too am not exempt. Keep well, and I shall return." Then he ducked out into the foggy morning. She closed the door and looked at Feanor, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes black and emotionless.  Then he went to the workshop, tossing her the dusting rag as he went. "Back to work," he murmured.

*

That afternoon, Feanor took Gwen with him for deliveries. "Once you understand the layout of the city and our customs, I'll expect you to do the deliveries," he told her as they stood waiting for an available carriage. When one arrived, Feanor told the driver, "Upper Wharf, 32nd North Main," before joining her inside.

"Why is it so foggy in the mornings and evenings?" she asked.

"I don't know the science of it," he replied,"but a fog is formed offshore and is blown in by the prevailing winds. It helps to disperse the smoke and keep things slightly cleaner than they would be otherwise, but the sun usually burns it off. It helps decay wood, and causes mushrooms and mold to abound, but it remains useful. We receive it less in winter. You're fortunate to have missed our blazing hot summers, but soon we'll get some absolutely cracking frosts, and decent amounts of snow. It's cold, but livable."

Then they arrived, next to a harbor and its piers. They walked along a narrow and twisted street, with creaking houses built close together. Their bricks were deeply grooved, cracked, or missing, and what must have been fine decorations of ironwork had now rusted through, leaving streaks running down the leaning buildings and flaked of metal on the ground. As they went on, the streets became more like a maze, the houses changing from brick to rotting wood, with some houses that were abandoned, with broken windows, old pamphlets plastered to their walls, adorned with graffiti. Shady characters were lurking in the shadows, and rats scurried away from their footsteps as they echoed on the grimy cobblestones.

Finally, they came closer to the end of the neighborhood, where the piers were more visible. Tall-masted ships, their sails and rigging visible over the slate roofs, sat in the sea water, sailors and merchants bustling about them. She saw an empty rotting hull, crusted with barnacles, swilling about in the shallows.

 

Feanor took her up to a building, with a sign in cracked peeling paint that said, "Thorontur and Company Shipping." He turned and looked at her. "This is the oldest district in the city, aside from the Blessed District, if you couldn't tell. The owner of this company - Thorontur himself, is old and thrives on tradition. Walk quietly behind me and don't look anyone in the eye. Understand?"

She nodded. They walked inside the musty office, where a desk was inhabited by a twitchy old man who reminded Gwen of a rabbit.

"Y-your name, s-sir?" he asked.

"Feanor. With a delivery for Master Thorontur."

The old man leaned over to a trumpet-shaped spout attached to a copper pipe that was turning green and ran straight up through the ceiling. "A Master Feanor to see you, sir." Gwen noted a metal slash mark on his veined and spotted hands. "You may go up and see him now," he said, gesturing to a steep staircase. As she started up them after Feanor, she realized that they were tilted, bowed, and otherwise quite worn from use. She touched the walls on both sides, terrified that she would fall backwards.

They entered a doorway and into a carpeted room, with shelves holding various nautical instruments, as well as large globes on clawed feet. She glanced at them, strangely unsettled by the unfamiliar shapes of continents. A full-scale map was pinned to the wall, with two major continents. Between the two, a heavy black line wavered, showing what must be the Iron Wall. Around the left continent, which must be Valinor, various colored lines marked shipping routes.

In a great chair behind a sumptuous desk, a black-haired bearded man sat, wearing an old-fashioned suit and high-collared jacket. "Master Feanor!" He bellowed when he saw him. "Have you got it?" He stood up.

Feanor walked up to the desk, pulling out a large rolled piece of paper and spreading it across the desktop. "The designs for the clipper ship, as you requested. It should be far faster than any other ship on the market, because its prow is designed to cut through the waves."

Thorontur studied the prints, then smiled in glee. "Well done, Feanor! Well done. I'll begin production immediately. You've a fine head on your shoulders." Feanor smiled, one of the first full smiles she had seen on him. The bearded man pulled open a drawer. "About payment-", he said, and Feanor bowed slightly. "A check from your bank will do fine, sir," he said. As he scribbled his signature, Thorontur indicated one of the plush chairs in front of the desk. "Please, have a cup of something, and we can chat - it's been a while since I've had suitable company." He leaned over to the tube that came out of the floor next to his desk. "Frank! A pot of coffee, quickly, please." He tore off the piece of paper, then handed it to Feanor as he sat down.

Gwen hesitated, unsure of what to do. She was fairly sure that she was supposed to sit, from the way Feanor had acted the first day. She came and stood behind the chair as she recalled medieval pages doing. Thorontur leaned back in his chair. "So! A new Ownling! You've been quite the talk of the town, Feanor."

"Indeed. I didn't think it would be so unusual or for word to spread so quickly."

"Gossip spreads faster than fire, they say." They both chuckled. Thorontur looked at Gwen curiously. "But this one's from the new stock."

"Indeed."

"I may have sailed the seas, but I've never been offworld. Tell me, what's it like on yours?" It took a moment for Gwen to register that the question was aimed at her, and Feanor turned in his chair to look at her. Her lips parted slightly as she glanced at her master, trying to ascertain what she should do.

"It's nice, sir," she managed to say.

"That's all? It's nice? Tell me, I have heard that you have ships that sail beneath the ocean."

At this point the dumbwaiter clattered and Thorontur got up to get the coffee, pouring some for himself and his guest. "The very idea is wondrous. How does it work?"

She kept her eyes on the floor. "I couldn't say, sir."

"Do you think you could build a ship that sails under the sea, Master Feanor?"

Feanor looked up from his cup in interest. "An interesting idea, Master Thorontur, but it would be a dubious one at best. But this coffee - quite an interesting drink."

"Yes - I find it most stimulating."

Feanor sat the cup on its saucer, standing and bowing slightly as he gave it to Thorontur. "No doubt I too will find it so, but regrettably I have other business to attend to - deliveries. May your business prosper, and may we meet again."

"Farewell, Master Feanor."

Gwen carefully navigated the stairs, following Feanor out of the door into the salty air. "Thorontur used to fish, before there was significant overfishing and the populations depleted. Now, he does shipping work, and he is one of very few friends who treat me with respect. A little eccentric, perhaps, but kind nonetheless." Then they were off to the Medling district, where Gwen recalled Finrod lived.

"Yes," Feanor said, "Along with every popinjay and those who've curried favor with the Valar - we call them cocks. We'll be visiting a family household, the house of Thingol and Melian the Maiar, who bear me little grudge as well, but will have little to do with me. When you come, go to the kitchen entrance and the Onlies will take the delivery."

The houses they passed became larger and more ornate as they progressed towards the mountain, weak sunlight glinting off marble pillars and ceramic tile. The carriage stopped at a grand house, walled off and standing tall, blazing white, with a dome and pillars giving it a Tuscan feel. They entered through a wooden door rather than the main gate, traipsing down a path amidst a lush garden and perfectly manicured lawns. Entering the house through a small door, Gwen and Feanor stepped into sweltering kitchens, bustling with activity as the head cook shouted orders in Breech. Gwen immediately felt in the way, as she tended to do anyway. Meats were being roasted over a fire pit and stews in cauldrons. Dishes were clinking and clattering as dishwashers quickly washed and stacked dishes. Onlies were bringing food from the cellars, one of whom was a short, pointy-eared fellow with bare hairy feet. She nudged her master and discreetly asked him what the Only was. "A halfling," Feanor murmured back, then stepped forward to interrupt the head cook, giving her a box containing a well-made sword.

A gruff voice suddenly addressed Gwen. She turned, startled to find a fat, very hairy dwarf carrying a large basket of apples. "Porish met!" he said, and seeing she didn't understand, tried indignantly in some other languages. Feanor appeared by her side. "He wants you to move." 

"Oh!" she said, jumping closer to her master. The dwarf gave her a surly glance and set down the basket where she had been standing. as they turned to leave, the cook shouted at them, "Hey!" Feanor turned to find a greasy envelope shoved in his face by fat fingers. He took it gingerly, and left. As they walked down the path, he opened it, trying to touch as little of the envelope as possible. He read the creamy white paper in its flowing script (I've got to learn to read, Gwen thought, annoyed) and he smiled grimly.

"What is it?" she asked as they reached the wall.

"An invitation." He finished reading it and looked up. "There's a party here tonight, and I'm invited. This is dated a month ago, so that idiot of a cook must have forgotten to give it to me."

"Why not mail it?"

"Why waste postage? They know I deliver to their household." He frowned. "That means you'll be coming with me."

"Surcoat or dress?" she asked.

"What?"

"Surcoat or dress? Which is more appropriate?"

"Oh. The invitation says servants will wait on us, so surcoat." They got in the carriage, to the Cloven district. "You'll stand around the sides of the room until we are called to dine, when you'll go to the kitchens and fetch food to serve us. Blast and smoke!" he cursed. "I'll have to teach you how to serve and carve tonight. Afterwards there will be dancing, which I abhor, and small talk, which I like even less. You'll wait around the room once more, doing small tasks people ask of you."

"Why not refuse to go?"

He stuffed the invite back into its envelope. " Any chance I can have to climb the backbiting social ladder, I should take. Climb it, climb in favor of the Valar. And please remember, you're a symbol of stature for me, so people will watch you as they would me."

"I'll try my best not to mess up."

He smiled wanly. They were on a road that went along the Lesser Wall, which soared above them. Suddenly, they started to take a slowly inclining ramp up the side of the wall. Feanor smiled. "Look out the windows - this is my favorite part of going this way to the Cloven district." She did as he suggested, gaining a better perspective of the city. They reached to top of the wall, which was busy with diverse forms of traffic.

Then they were flying, it seemed. They were on a bridge to another part of the city that stretched out before them away from the sea. They were riding beside a railway track, over wide expanses of rice paddies that stretched from the city wall into the hazy distance. Tiny figures were visible wading through them, and then they reached the other side, descending carefully down another ramp. The Cloven district, she saw, contained the fruits and vegetable markets Feanor had mentioned earlier. "Fruit is brought by ship or train here for selling," he told her. They got out of the carriage before a friendly-looking cafe, which was crowded with people. "The only way to deliver here," he said, "is to order here. It's the best cafe in the entire city." They went in, waiting in line. A tall wolfhound brushed past her, carrying a paper bag in its mouth. A sassy Only with bright eyes came up to the counter, wiping her hands on a towel. Feanor quickly ordered, then slid a black box across the counter, the waitress taking it with a wink. She came out with their order in paper bags embossed with a red M.

They ate in the carriage - onion soup with crisp sandwiches. They stopped at a train station, needing to take it to the Temple Complex. The train passed through the Arts district on its way, which had wide plazas and large theaters. The train stopped at its edge, where they got off. "We have to walk from here," he told her. "The Valar don't like noisy trains and carriages in their serene spaces." The streets became boulevards as they got closer to the sea once more. Feanor pointed out the Court of the Valar, a large imposing building built in the style of the Tibetan palace, soaring above them along the mountainside. Wide plazas separated the temples of the Valar. Two of them, he told her, were on top of the mountain Tanaquentil.

He steered Gwen towards one pillared in green brass, a little smaller than the others'.  "The temple of Vana," he told her.

"Vana? As in Yavanna, the feast?" she asked.

"No, indeed not. You would do well not to confuse them. Vana is the sister of Yavanna, for whom the feast was named."

"Ah," she murmured, not having understood a word of what he said.

"We'll be going through the front so try, at least, to look a little contrite. Follow me straight through, don't gape at anything, since it's considered rude. We'll be meeting directly with Vana, so don't speak unless spoken to." He seemed nervous, wiping his brow with a kerchief, leading her underneath the columns into the temple. Inside was lush with grass and flowers, a giant tree standing in the center of a great hall, its many branches seeming to hold up the very ceiling. More trees dotted the lawn (indoors, Gwen noted, this was quite a feat) and what appeared to be worshippers of Vana strolled around them. Feanor and Gwen walked quickly amongst them, reaching the far wall. Lounging against it was a faun who eyed them carefully. "Feanor. What're you doing here?"

"What do you think?" he said softly, indignation apparent in his tone. "I'm delivering."

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the faun, studying its fingernails.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

The faun gave him a surly look and rapped twice on the stone wall behind him. It began to move supply - to writhe and open as though it were made of living branches instead of cold stone. It formed a doorway that Feanor stepped through, Gwen quickly following suit. The entered a room with yet another green lawn, but before them stood the Court of Vana. The Vala stood tall, a head above the others, sitting on a throne carved out of wood. She looked not unlike the Fair Folk Gwen had encountered before, but the people surrounding her were far more interesting - some centaurs, fauns, fox-faced girls, trees she was pretty sure weren't trees, and unblooded maidens dressed in white. A chill ran down her spine as she remembered a nightmare, then shook it off as she faced the present. Feanor knelt, and Gwen hastily followed suit before looking more closely at the Vala through her eyelashes. Vana had auburn curls, leaves and flowers in her hair, clad in white, with eyes burning like the sun.

"Elen sila lumenn omentielvo," Feanor said his traditional greeting in Quenya, and the Vala repeated it back. Then Feanor hesitated, and the Vala smiled in encouragement and said something. "My lady," he said hesitantly, "if we may, I ask that we might converse in English, that my new Ownling might heed our words better, and understand us.

"If that is what you ask, it is easy answered," she said with a smile, "but I wonder at your concern for the Ownling. If only all masters were so dedicated. You've come with the lights, I presume?"

He pulled from his bag a jar of glass marbles, and Vana clapped her hands in joy. "Show me, please!" and Feanor demonstrated for her the entire jar, with which the Vala was very pleased. After taking them into her hands, she noticed Gwen and addressed Feanor. "This Ownling, they say, comes from the new stock."

He nodded in agreement. "There is nothing that does not reach your ears, my lady."

She looked impressed. "All the way from Earth!" She shifted her gaze to Gwen. "You must not be afraid of me, Gwen," she said. "All things have a purpose. Sometimes we must do things because we must, not because we wish to." She looked down at the jar and smiled a brilliant smile at Feanor. "You have brought a most excellent gift with which I am well pleased," she told him. "Go now with my thanks."

As they journeyed back home to get ready for the party, Gwen asked Feanor, "Why did you give the lights to her?"

He looked at her with a still face, an unreadable expression. "She was the favorite Vala of my wife. I do it in her memory, and I know she'd like them."

"Your wife hasn't decided to come back, has she?" she asked softly.

He cast his eyes downward. "No, she hasn't."