Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

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Chapter 13. Ulmo's Temple.

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A week later Gwen was standing in front of the canal, watching the faint winter sun rise and holding a dripping water bucket. The dark canal water whispered quietly by, slivers of ice beginning to form by its bricked sides. She shivered there silently as the shift whistle blew. Her hand tightened on the bucket. She was upset at her master, furious that she had to get up earlier than her master.

Two days ago Feanor showed her how to light the furnaces, fanning the coals to get them warmer and beginning to set pieces of metal in the blazing warmth. This, she was told, is what she should do in the mornings, so that her master could sleep in. She stood there holding the bucket, then abruptly turned and entered the workshop. In contrast to the heat of the furnaces, the rest of the barn was frosty cold. There had been a cold rain the night before, and the grimy cobblestones that came underneath the cracked wooden wallboards had turned white with frost crystals. Her breath made clouds in the air as she pumped the bellows, and  she went inside to finish making breakfast.

The large tub of water that she had painstakingly filled earlier that morning and set outside for the wash had already frozen over. After breakfast, she chopped through the ice with a knife, then dragged it up the steps indoors. She washed the clothes in the frigid water, hands going numb, then raw. She strung up a line from the ceiling in front of the fire, clipping the clothes on.

She then sat down in front of the fire, cranky and exhausted already. She had five deliveries to make that day, so she shrugged on a jacket over her dress and threw on a scarf. Then she picked up the basket of goods, slung some swords over her shoulder, and flung open the door, swiftly walking out into the sunlight, as it began to burn off the fog.

                                                                                                        

 The first person on the list, written in Feanor's florid English script, was the name Caranthir. She slid through alleyways, heading towards the district written on the paper, one she had never heard of. The Escher District, which, she was told, was on the other side of the city, opposite the Blessed District. It lay in shadow from the morning sun.

There, visible over the rooftops, were great steel constructs. The city was still quiet, but early morning workers were making their way about, and the ruckus of the food market could be heard several blocks away. A tiger sidled by her, giving her a sultry amber glance. She crossed some planks that had been made into a bridge over a canal, into a far richer district. The wealthy Elves walking around her gave her dark glances, making her aware of her already shabby clothes, and she hugged the basket closer to her. Ten blocks and some stairs later, she came to a wall guarded by soldiers.

Gwen seemed to visibly shrink before them, the soldiers dressed in the same uniforms as those who had caused such destruction before. They looked at her coldly, then asked her something in Breech, then in English - "Who are you here for?"

"Caranthir," she stated, and they looked at one another, surprised. Then they opened the bolted door.

She walked into a very different world, there - one that was all metal and technology. The ground was sheeted with painted metal, and before her was a vast flat plain, with great ships sitting upon it. Troops were training in ranks, and steel constructs and towers broke up the skyline, butting directly up against the great mountain. She turned silently, in awe, to the guard behind her. He grinned, white teeth flashing behind his helmet. "It's amazing, isn't it? Technology, that is. Here, I'll escort you to the Commander. Follow me."

She walked quietly behind him, noting he stayed within marked lanes. The ship she had been  brought to this world on was a peashooter compared to the immense size of the cruisers she passed. There were great pools of water used for cooling off engines, and they approached one of the skyscrapers that surely housed troops. They eventually reached the doors, and she went inside the lobby to an elevator. The clunky thing took a while to drop down, and they opened the metal grate and stepped inside, Gwen standing in silent fear from the apparent safety hazards, careful not to get too close to either wall. They passed floors with bustling activity, and rode swiftly to the top.

The guard pulled open the grates to show a lushly carpeted hallway, paneled in wood, Gwen meekly following the guard to opulently great doors at its end. He knocked. "A delivery for you, sir!"

The doors swung open, and a suited butler bowed. "Follow me."

She followed him into another lush room, with a wide window overlooking the ships and the city. A figure was silhouetted against the light, and then it turned to face her.

Instantly her mind reeled, and she dropped the basket in shock. The silver mask from that dark night - no. It couldn't be.

The Elf King was just as surprised as she. "You!" The voice snarled forth, unseen lips propelling it forward. "Impossible-" And he strode quickly around his desk, coming towards her with clear intent. She stood there, transfixed as he drew close to her, reaching out to grab her. She reached down, grabbing the basket, then ran for her life. Down the hallway she bolted, hearing him running behind her, and reached inside the basket, grasping the package wrapped in paper for him and throwing it behind her.

Frantically searching for a stair exit, she found it and flew down them, stumbling and slamming against a wall. She could still hear him behind her, her heart pounding frantically as she got up and passed floor after floor. She glanced behind her to see him rounding the staircase directly behind her - "You're mine!" he howled at her as she started jumping steps. Then she got to the bottom, throwing open the door to the lobby and rushing outside. Picking up running speed, she looked behind her and saw him still pursuing, with guards behind him.

"Help!" she screamed, but no soldier or worker looked her way; a commander was behind her, and no one would cross him, especially not for an Only. She realized that not even the guards at the wall would open the door for her. She halted in front of the shallow cooling pools, watching as her nightmare came closer, trying to catch her breath. She involuntarily stepped back as he drew closer, and immediately stumbled backwards into the pool, which was knee deep, and surprisingly warm.

Caranthir stopped short at the edge of the water, then stepped in, coming closer to her. He emitted a low animal-like purr of satisfaction, and halted his advance, towering over her. He ran his fingers along the side of her face as she shivered. Then the water suddenly coalesced upwards, and Caranthir started back in fear. It formed the shape of a man, then took solid form of a tan man wearing a brilliant blue robe. Gwen blinked. This was weird.

A shiver shook her opponent, and he dropped to his knees in the water, prostrating himself, as did the soldiers around the pool. The man, aside from coming out of the water, was much larger than normal proportion, and spoke calmly, with a bit of an otherworldly echo. "This girl is under my protection now, Caranthir." "My lord," came a sniveling voice from behind the silver mask," She cannot stay in the water forever. I am within right to pursue her if she leaves."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Has she broken a law?"

"No, my lord."

"Then, 'under the law' she is the untouchable property of her master. You may not harm her."

"I am the son of her master, my lord. I have biological right." Gwen nearly choked. Son of Feanor?

"But not legal right. You are not his heir. You have the insolence to question me?"

After glaring at her, Caranthir slogged out of the water, throwing his cape around himself and striding angrily off. Gwen stood in the water shivering, looking at the strange man before her. He cocked an eyebrow. "What, no prostration from you?"

"Are you a Vala, or something?"

"Indeed."

Gwen stopped down and picked up the delivery list, which was floating in the water. The ink had run together, making the letters unreadable. "Rats," she said with a sinking heart. "Why did you help me, then?"

"You're a Numenorean, in danger from a ruthless commander. Of course I'd help. But now I must go." With that he disappeared back into the water.

Gwen, dripping, made her way back through the gate. She opened the basket to find that the paper packaging around the other package was destroyed, too - along with its address. She sighed and trudged back to the house. When she opened the cracked wooden door, grateful for the warmth of the fire, Feanor was eating lunch. He looked up at her as she entered the kitchen, dropping the basket on the table. "Did everything go well?" he asked, continuing to read the paper.

"Oh, yes," she snapped. "Really well. Your son was most cordial."

He looked up, raising an eyebrow at her tone. "Really?"

"No, of course not! How could you do that to me?"

He frowned, shoving aside the newspaper. "Did he harm you, Gwen?"

She collapsed into a chair. "Scaring me half to death, maybe. He certainly wanted to do something."

"Why would he have any interest in you?"

She looked at him. "He nearly killed me back at home."

His eyes widened. "Oh. What stopped him this time?"

She closed her eyes momentarily. "A Vala."

He sat forward suddenly, his voice intense. "Which Vala, Gwen?"

"I don't know."

"What were its features? Was there an element about it?"

"Water. He had something to do with water."

He sat back in relief. "Oh good. Ulmo."

"Who?"

"Ulmo is the most inclined towards humanity, Gwen. He's the best one who could have helped you. But we need to go to his temple to thank him."

"He sounded completely fine with it, Feanor."

He looked away, frustrated. "You don't yet understand this world, Gwen. The Valar are highly unpredictable. Even if he sounded fine about it, he may change his mind. We cannot afford to get on the bad side of another Vala."

"What should we do, then?"

He got up, going to a window. Then he said decidedly, "We write letters of thanks, and take that as our offering. We'll burn them at his temple."

"It's like he's a god - that's not right. I worship only one God."

"They desire to be gods, Gwen. That is the quarrel against them. They were not originally supposed to act like gods, but they have taken that role."

"So we pay lip service to them? It still isn't right."

He faced her solemnly. "I'll do the lip service, Gwen. You just come along."

She sighed, and checked to make sure her dress was dry while Feanor wrote his letter. Then they took the train to the Temple district.

The Temple district stood overlooking the shore and the vast ocean, which Gwen hadn't seen so closely before. Canal water, funneled from mountain rivers, ran directly into the ocean, and many people were gathered by it, children playing in the surf, women washing clothes, men trying in vain to catch fish or crabs. She leaned against a railing, watching scenes unfolding below her. Feanor came up beside her.

A ways off the shore, the Greater Wall extended out into the ocean as a breakwater, ending in lighthouses to guide boats to the Blessed District. To her right, a makeshift breakwater had been made out of the hulls of white ships. "The ships the Elves use when they come from Middle-Earth," Feanor said quietly, as though reading her mind. Further out from the shore, another, less beautiful lighthouse stood on its own. "That lighthouse is for trading routes," Feanor said, pointing it out, and then straightened, craning his neck. The crowds gathered on the beach pointed as well - a white ship had appeared, small, against the horizon. "Another group," he sighed, "lured to their doom. Come Gwen, we must go."

He guided her to a large building, built with great white stones. In front of it an elaborate fountain splashed, and they walked up several steps before going into the dark shadowed colonnade, entering the temple. The sounds of splashing water and guttural chanting reverberated in the space around her. She followed her master, crossing pools of clean water as they walked deeper and deeper inside. As the sunlight filtered away, the light began to come from the pools of water. Feanor's lights began swooping overhead, providing faint light from above. Then, the columns stopped, as did the pools of water, and they were in an open space, where people were standing and whispering in groups, others kneeling and praying, and still others standing before an altar of sorts. Gwen followed him up to it, where he burned the letter he had written, clapped his hands twice, bowed, and seemed to pray. Suddenly a monk, dressed in brilliant blue robes and a shaved head, came up to him, laying a hand on his shoulder and whispering quietly in Sindarin, whose softer sounds she recognized as different from Quenya. Feanor opened his eyes and nodded, gesturing for Gwen to follow, then trailing the monk.

They walked to a wall with blue glass writing set in it, letting in the sun as would stained glass, then entered a doorway into a more brilliantly lit room. There, on a throne, sat Ulmo himself, looking stern.

 "I'm worried about your son," said the large figure.

"As am I," Feanor said, shifting on his feet.

"I think the Valar are doing something of which I am not aware," Ulmo said. "It may be that only a few have decided to commit such acts."

"What acts?" Feanor asked, as Gwen struggled to keep quiet, unsure of her place before the Vala.

"I hear rumor - just a rumor, mind you - that orcs are breeding in the underground sewers."

Gwen heard Feanor's sharp intake of breath. "Have they harmed anyone?"

"No - they're confined, I think. There have been occasional sightings below. The concentration of sightings, however, have been beneath the Escher District. I think if the soldiers were suspicious, they would have taken care of the problem."

Feanor nodded. "Unless they had been ordered to stand down. Are they being bred for the army?"

"I'm unsure. But this casts a bit of suspicion and the army itself, especially its commander. You're aware he attacked your slave."

"Of course."

"There's good reason for it. You are quite unaware of Gwen's background in her world."

Feanor shrugged. "I merely know that she has strong Numenorean blood, and that she had been attacked by him in the past."

Then Ulmo told him the story that Finrod had recounted - the plans for strengthening the Numenorean line. Feanor nodded. "I was unaware that so much Elvish and Maiar blood had been invested in her ancestry. That means there are several Elves unaccounted for, then?"

"Yes." Ulmo looked at Gwen curiously. "It has been speculated that such a spectacular heritage would result in an exceptional person. It is for that reason it should not be spoken of. There may be some who would seek to harm her, like your son."

Gwen blinked. She loathed it when people talked about her as though she wasn't in the room.

Ulmo continued, "You may also be interested to know, Feanor, that a ship just sailed in, carrying quite a fascinating load of people."

"People? I've never heard that term used in reference to the white ships."

"It carried with it two halflings, as well as your niece, Galadriel, and Elrond, the son of Earendil."

Feanor raised his eyebrows. "Exceptional, indeed."

"Yes. We've a welcoming party for them, one for which I am already late." Ulmo rose, and Feanor bowed, then the Vala turned and vanished into thin air.

As they were walking out of the temple, Gwen asked, "Would I have been able to say anything, properly?"

"No. But note that he spoke in English, so you could at least hear."

"True. But what did he say about halflings and Earendil, and such?"

"You've probably seen halflings around, but not recognized them. They're short, like children, but are fully grown and usually walk barefoot, with large hairy feet."

Gwen squinted, thinking. "I think I've seen some, at the markets. Oh! and the one in Elwe's household."

He nodded. "Galadriel is Finrod's sister, then only one he has. He will be most glad to see her."

"And the son of Earendil? I seemed to recognize the name."

"Elrond is his name, and he's the brother of Elros, your direct ancestor."

"Oh." Everything clicked into place. A direct relation to her - how strange.

When they returned to the house, the mail lay waiting in a heap on the floor, pushed through the slot. Feanor went to tend to his furnaces as she shuffled through it. By nightly lessons in Elvish, she was slowly beginning to recognize letters. Naturally, they were all addressed to her master, so she left them on the table for him, when he came in for dinner. One envelope in particular stood out from amongst the rest. It was larger, whiter, with particularly calligraphic writing.

Feanor came in and began tearing open envelopes. "This is interesting for you," he said. "Finrod is returning to the Northern Reaches to rule his realm, until he is required to return." Her heart sank a little at that. She supposed it was to be expected, but she had secretly hoped it wouldn't happen. Then he opened the white envelope with a frown. He read it once, then twice, and sighed, dropping it on the table. She froze, holding the kettle. "What's wrong?"

He sighed. "You must stop inferring into everything I do, Gwen."

"I don't mean to, I just get worried about you."

"You needn't."

There was an awkward silence. Then he finally spoke up. "I've been selected to do service for one of the Vala, Manwe, for a month."

"Is it because of your purchase of me, or your son's actions?"

"It's actually by random lottery. The time of service and who we are to serve is by complete chance. Not even slaves are exempt from it."

"So what does that mean?"

He sighed once more. "It means I have to leave for Taniquentil, and do Manwe's bidding for a month. I've a week to settle my affairs."

"Where does that leave me?"

He pursed his lips. "I couldn't leave you here alone. There's too much of a chance for my son to do something to you. It is possible to 'lend' you out, where a master will pay a set price for your work, then you work for them for the duration of my term."

"Who would do such a thing?"

He cocked his head. "At a different time, I would have suggested Finrod. You could go with him, I suppose, but I'm merely serving for a month. It'd be best to give you to someone in the city." He thought intently for a while. "I think that Melian's household would be best."

She closed her eyes, annoyed. "After my fiasco? I'm not sure I'd enjoy it."

"It's not something to be enjoyed. They would be the family that would by far treat you the best. Slaves of other masters are required by law to be treated well, but one's honor is based on one's hospitality. Yes. I'll write them, and see what they think."