Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

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Chapter 17. Bridge of Sorrows

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BELOVED, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there;
From joy the holy branches start,
And all the trembling flowers they bear.
The changing colours of its fruit
Have dowered the stars with metry light;
The surety of its hidden root
Has planted quiet in the night;
The shaking of its leafy head
Has given the waves their melody,
And made my lips and music wed,
Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
There the Joves a circle go,
The flaming circle of our days,
Gyring, spiring to and fro
In those great ignorant leafy ways;
Remembering all that shaken hair
And how the winged sandals dart,
Thine eyes grow full of tender care:

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart.
Gaze no more in the bitter glass
The demons, with their subtle guile.
Lift up before us when they pass,
Or only gaze a little while;
For there a fatal image grows
That the stormy night receives,
Roots half hidden under snows,
Broken boughs and blackened leaves.
For ill things turn to barrenness
In the dim glass the demons hold,
The glass of outer weariness,
Made when God slept in times of old.
There, through the broken branches, go
The ravens of unresting thought;
Flying, crying, to and fro,
Cruel claw and hungry throat,
Or else they stand and sniff the wind,
And shake their ragged wings; alas!
Thy tender eyes grow all unkind:
Gaze no more in the bitter glass.
~"The Two Trees," by William Butler Yeats

The crowd filled in the back of the room, searching eyes trying to find meaning in the demeanor of the tall being.

"Ulmo is going to be trying cases, right?" Gwen asked, curious that there seemed to be a great presence of Onlies.

Erumollien snorted. "Of course not. The Court of Ulmo is held for requests and information. Since Ulmo holds sway over the seas, lakes, and rivers, and therefore heavily influences trade."

Gwen's morning was fairly busy, requests and petitions were frequent, often having to do with trading routes. One in particular caught her attention, a question from an elderly man with a tan and woolen cap. "Begging your pardon, my lord," he said. "Fishing is getting more and more scarce. When will the fish be coming back?"

Ulmo closed his eyes, not wanting to have heard this question. "This year is the worst crisis we've had so far as fishing is concerned. I have been trying hard to remedy the problem, but there are significant amounts of toxic materials being buried in the ground from the mills surrounding the city. They've been filtering into the rivers, then the oceans. Unfortunately, while we are trying hard to clean these up, there is such a high demand for fish that the rest of the population has been overfished. Not much can be done unless the mills are cleaned up."

The man's hat was off, wrung tightly in his hands. "Then what are we going to do?"

Ulmo pursed his lips. "You'll have to bring it up in high court. I do not have the authority to ban the factories from their activities."

Flustered, the man bowed low and went back to the crowd.

*

When the court was finished, the herald came out stomping his staff on the ground, and, talking amongst themselves, the crowd left the great hall. Gwen and Erumollien gathered their papers, making preparations to leave, when someone approached the platform. Gwen looked up at him - it was Thorontur, whom she had met earlier. "You're still the slave to Feanor, I presume?" he asked.

"Of course."

"When your master comes off duty, please let him know that the southern trade routes through the Blessed Isles have opened, so he may tour them at his leisure. There will always be room on my ships for him."

Erumollien came over to them. "I beg your pardon, sir, but what purpose could Feanor have on the Islands?"

Thorontur shook his head, surprised, apparently, at such a foolish question. "Even those living on the isles want Feanor's wares, if it's any of your business. His goods are of particular quality, and useful to many." He inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you, scribe, and you - " he looked at her firmly. "make sure Feanor gets the message, will you?" He put on his hat and turned on his heel, heading towards the exit.

Erumollien frowned. "I don't like him. Gwen, we have been invited to be entertained with our lord Ulmo. He's quite fond of the game faroth, and I've accepted, of course, so please follow me."

He strode ahead of her, leading her to a courtyard open to the sky, clouded over. There, underneath a pavilion of white stone, Ulmo was already sitting in another throne. Before him was, Gwen assumed, the gameboard and pieces for faroth.Handing her the papers from the trial, Erumollien quietly sat on a stool opposite the Vala. Gwen stood there awkwardly as a woman came and stood by Ulmo's side, giving her a dark look with eyes that were an unnatural shade of blue. A shiver ran down her spine, so she looked at the game board.

"You may begin, scribe," Ulmo said, glancing up at Gwen. Erumollien was looking intently at the board, lips pursed as he considered his first move. Faroth, Gwen had been told in one of her Elvish lessons, was Sindarin for "hunt." As the game progressed, Gwen's brow wrinkled as she tried to determine the rules of the game. It was not unlike chess, a game she had played quite often with her mother, but there were different rules. The pieces were different for both sides, and each piece moved in a different way than the others.

Bored as the game wore on, she scrutinized the Vala, the closest she had come to one of these beings and had time to observe. How could one be so insubstantial, yet interact so intimately with the environment? His azure eyes looked intensely at the board; white clipped beard and tan skin wrinkled in a frown. His movements suggested no frailty or age, as she would have guessed from his face. His blue velvet cloth was rich, embroidered with silver and pearl. Erumollien made a move, and Ulmo's eyes wrinkled in a smile. He made a move, captured a piece, and stood. Erumollien stood, bowing, and left the pavilion with Gwen in tow. As they left the compound, rain began to fall as the day grew dark. The lamplighters were out, moving between the lantern-posts like ghost under the sheet of rain.

*

The rest of Gwen's time on loan to Erumollien passed rather uneventfully. As he was instructed, on the last day of Feanor's service Erumollien walked with  Gwen to the Bridge of Sorrows, where a small crowd had gathered in expectation of those exiting the Blessed District. Having never seen it, Gwen was surprised at how common the whole affair was. There was no pomp, no ceremony, no Vala present. From hearing Feanor's stories, she had wondered why there was a bridge here, but now she understood. There was a large canal that butted up against the Great Wall, a great distance that was intended to stop people from trying to scale the wall on their own. The bridge sloped down from a decent height as well, as the Blessed District was physically above the rest of the city. Bored, as usual, with waiting, she glanced around at those who had gathered. To her surprise, she saw Elwing there, along with another woman with golden hair. The others she did not recognize, but they were noble in stature and bearing, more so than many Elves she had seen around the city. As the morning sun was just beginning to sink behind the mountains, the great doors from the Blessed District opened.

The group that came through the doors walked with heavy step. They drew a little closer before Gwen found Feanor among the faces. He looked troubled, and met her eyes with his dark gaze. A chill ran down her spine.

As the Elves reached the end of the bridge, the crowd murmured as they looked for their loved ones. Feanor made his way through the crowd, coming to stop before her. They stood there, neither saying a word as they watched tearful reunions between family members who had not seen one another for thousands of years. Elwing, with a clear smile on her face, enveloped someone in a hug, as the blonde woman kissed him.

Feanor and Erumollien were speaking rapidly in Elvish, most likely about her, and Feanor turned to her. "Everything is all set," he said. "Let's go home."

He called a carriage, and they rode together back home in silence. He stared out the window all the while, lost in his thoughts. Deja vu, Gwen thought as they pulled up in front of the shabby house, all the more dingy from lack of care. Water dripped on them from the tiled roof as Feanor fumbled with the keys, finally letting them in. There were no cheerful cats to greet them, as their caretaker had not brought them back yet. Feanor took his things to his room as Gwen put her suitcase by the couch. At least sleeping on the floor here would be better than a stone floor, she contemplated.

"Would you like me to make you anything?" she called. "We still have flour and salt."

He came out from the hallway. "No," he said, and picked up an umbrella from the desk. "You may make something for yourself. Enjoy a night off." He strode over to the doorway.

"Where are you going?" Gwen asked, worried.

He turned to face her, snugly placing a top hat on his head. "Out," he said. "To get really, really drunk." With that he opened the door and shut it behind him, having to jerk it where it sticks. Gwen was alone.

She sat on the couch, placing her head in her hands. It would be nice to not have to do anything, but when would he be back? If she knew anything about drinking, he might not return the next morning.

She found the matches and lit a fire in the fireplace, transferring some of the coals to the stove for baking. The pan sizzled and fried as she made pancakes, eating them at the table where her master normally sat. The rain pattered down on the roof as she perused the shelves, searching for something to read. There were, of course, few titles in English, but among them was a book she did not recognize. The Silmarillion read the title, and she pulled it out, flipping through the pages. It was quite large because it was lavishly illustrated, and as she looked, she realized it was a history of the Elves. It was precisely the sort of thing she needed to read.

*

Gwen jolted awake to a knock on the door. Sleepily she slid the half-read book off her, and slowly she got up off the couch. The knock sounded once more, insistent, and Gwen pulled open the door. A woman stood there, holding a basket with the cats inside. "These are yours, I believe," she said, handing them to here with trembling hands. Looking at the metal mark on the woman's hand, Gwen was moved. "Please, come in out of that rain."

The woman shook her head. "Your master will be angry with you."

"Nonsense," Gwen replied. "You'll catch your death from cold. Come and warm up a little." Taking the basket, she shut the door behind the woman, who lowered her hood and went to the fire, holding her hands over it to warm them. After being let out from their basket, the cat wrapped themselves around her legs in greeting. Stroking the cats, she went to the kitchen, filling a teapot. "I appreciate this," the woman said. "We get few kindnesses in this world."

"It's the least I can do for someone who's carried the cats! They've been getting fat," Gwen exclaimed.

The woman gave a wan smile. "I must be going now. My mistress is expecting me."

"No, no! Please, I'm making tea," Gwen said, rushing over. She shook her head. "No, thank you. You've been kind enough." With a slight nod, she opened the door and vanished into the early morning light. Shutting the door, Gwen leaned against it with a sigh as the teapot began to whistle. The cats looked up at her expectantly. "I've nothing to feed you," Gwen said bitterly, going and pouring herself a cup of tea. Still tired, she laid her head down on the table, studying one of the complex knots. The patter of rain on the roof lessened, then stopped altogether as her eyes closed.

Another knock assaulted her ears. Thinking perhaps it was Feanor, she got up and answered the door. It was not, however, Feanor but a ragtag boy in an old hat and a coat several sizes too large holding up several pigeons. "Pigeon, miss?"

"Since when have vendors started going door to door?" she asked, laughing. He lifted his chin impudently. "My idea, miss - I'm an entrepreneur, I am!"

"Very well," she said, smiling, going to the jar that held money for household use. "I'll take two, if you will. But where is your master?"

He shrugged. "Dunno, and he doesn't care anyways. Barely enough money to feed himself, let alone me. I'm hungry, so this my solution. Getting rid of pigeons, and making a little money in the process!" He handed her the pigeons as she gave him more change than he needed. He looked down at the money in his palm, and gave her a wide grin. "Thanks, pleasure doing business with you!" he called, walking away. She looked at the pigeons, then at the cats. "Yes, these are for you," she said as she went to the trash to pluck them.

She was putting the meat into bowls when the door crashed open, Feanor stumbling in. He stood there, breathing heavily, as Gwen rushed to wash her hands. She took his coat and hat, guiding him over to the couch, where he sat and put his head in his hands. She picked up the book and set next to him, gently putting a hand on his back. He cringed away. "Don't touch me," he said. She snatched her hand away, sitting beside him in awkward silence. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "This is why I don't drink," he said. "The morning is the worst. I don't want any of your sympathy. Just go. Get out and leave me alone for a while. Take money and go somewhere, and don't come back until at least four." She hesitated. "Go!" he barked.

Angrily grabbing a fistful of coins from the jar, she pulled on her cloak and went out into the foggy morning. Standing in front of the canal, she realized she didn't know where she could go. Robbed of a home for the day, what would she do with her stolen time? The library was an option, she thought, but she had no desire to peruse Elvish texts or get lost once more. As hard as she thought, her mind kept returning to Melian's household. Not really wanting to use the coins in her hand, she began walking.

When she reached the side gate into Melian's home, she hesitated before going in. Was she going to be welcome if she had no errand to run? Taking a deep breath, she strode up the walkway, knocking on the kitchen door. It was opened by one of the maids, who smiled upon seeing her. "Yes?" she asked.

Gwen shrugged. "Is Seer back? I would speak with her, if she is here."

The girl nodded. "She is out with her mother, but they will be back at noon. Please, come in and wait for her."

Gwen thanked her, going in and sitting at the servants' tables. It was not long before Elwing came downstairs, dressed in a subtle grey gown. She raised her eyebrows, surprised that Gwen was even there. "I saw at my trial," she said. "You've been getting around!"

Gwen smiled and stood, bowing. "May I congratulate you on your freedom," she said.

Elwing shook her head. "None of it would have been without you. Please, come upstairs. I would like to introduce you to my son, Elrond."

Gwen followed her up the stairs, into the great room, where Chen, Bo, and Amy where sitting, staring wide-eyed at Elrond, who had clearly been telling them some sort of tale. They smiled upon seeing her, and Bo got up and hugged her. She smiled, ruffling his hair, and bowed when Elrond stood. It was clear he had recently been in the Blessed District - much of his previous grandeur was evident in his appearance, clear brow and sharp eyes.

"Elrond," Elwing said in Sindarin, "let me introduce you to one of my rescuers, Gwendolyn Llewellyn. She is currently in the service of - Feanor, isn't it? - yes, Feanor."

"Ah, yes. He was my keeper in the 'Blessed District.' We met under inauspicious circumstances, I'm afraid. I would have liked to have gotten to know him better," Elrond replied, glancing at Gwen and noting she did not understand their speech.

Gwen blushed, looking down at her feet. Elrond continued. "She is Numenorean, then, I presume?" Elwing nodded.

He looked at her curiously, scrutinizing her from top to bottom. "Elrond knows many of the Numenoreans who live in Middle-Earth," Elwing told her. "You are one of the few west of Numenor he has met."

"What is the language you are speaking?" Elrond asked. Elwing smiled a little. "It is English, Gwen's native tongue. She is new to Valinor - she has spent most of her life in a distant land, and does not know any forms of Elvish."

"Is she familiar with Westron?" Elrond frowned thinking. "I am familiar with many tongues, but not this one. Would she be willing to teach me, and I her?"

"I think it might be best for you to pick up Breech before studying English, my son," Elwing stated. "It is a difficult one to learn, and less useful here than you might think."

Gwen pursed her lips, annoyed once more at a language she barely understood. It was clear they were talking about her, and Elrond gave her a glance of pity. Anger rose up in her - she did not need to be pitied, not by an Elf or anyone else. She was her own person, and was getting along fine for someone thrown into an entirely different culture. Then she understood how the woman she had taken in earlier must have felt - that no one ought to pity her, that she was independent, not dependent.

Those who live in Maine are notorious for being fiercely independent, not wanting to accept help from anyone else, and unwilling to ask for it. Perhaps this was a Numenorean trait, she thought idly as one of the other children came over to hug her skirts.

When she looked up, Melian and Seer had come in. A broad smile lit up Seer's face when she saw her, but Melian frowned. "Are you here on an errand, Gwen?"

"No, just a social visit," Gwen said. "My master gave me the day off."

"Perfect!" Seer was practically singing. "Come upstairs!"

"Space was beautiful!" Seer told her when they reached the privacy of the nursery. "It was incredible to see the stars so clearly, and our planet - it's breathtaking to see from the ship."

"I heard the negotiations went badly," Gwen said, trying to put it delicately.

She closed her eyes, smile collapsing. "It was just awful. They expected me to negotiate with these people, but I've never done anything like that before. I was so nervous, I accidentally insulted one of the delegates. People shouldn't be expected to just be thrown into a situation and do well! I'm a musician, and everything I perform I practice for months beforehand. I don't know what father will say when he gets back - he may revoke my permit, or worse."

"I don't envy you," Gwen said softly, and they sat there for a while in silence. "You seem to really have liked the voyage," Gwen said, trying to cheer her up.

"It was wondrous." Seer looked away, lost in memory. "I didn't know this, but Arda is encased in a sphere. The sun and moon, as you are aware, move around us, and we are at the center of the rotation. They differ in angle throughout the year, to give us the seasons, but I didn't know that the entirety of our system in encased in a nebulous sphere. The stars we see down here are not actual stars, but simulations of them, painted, it would seem, on the inside of the sphere. Earendil must not have roamed the far reaching skies, as we were told, but rather circled around us like the moon and sun. When I was in the ship, we went through, and I saw the outside of the sphere. It was like a dirty fog - nothing could be seen outside of it. But I saw the real universe, and it has even more stars than we see at night in the utter wilderness. They tell me there are thousands of worlds like ours, and too many stars in the universe to even count. I never realized that we were so sheltered. Many of the delegates I met were angered by being conquered by us - but before, when I was young, I heard the extravagant tales of our army's conquests, it seemed we were conquering wild and untamed peoples, helping them, in a bizarre way. But these people were intelligent, refined...I look at everything now, and I don't see it the same. I think your master was right, Gwen. I think the Vala are up to something."

Gwen nodded thoughtfully. "My people grapple with those problems as well, Seer. We have lorded ourselves over people we considered 'others' and given them great offense. But there are many among us who have seen the error of our ways and trying to remedy our ideals."

Seer looked down. "I'm afraid even I have looked down on slaves as callous and uncivilized - it is easy for an Elf, who has an eternity to live, to think of other beings as lesser. But we are made by one God, and I must not forget that, though I may be told otherwise. It is difficult when all of society seems to be against you."

"I agree. But that is the true measure of one's mettle, I think. To hold to one's beliefs when others tell you they are not so."

Seer nodded, looking out the window. "You listen well, Gwen. I fear you may think me a silly child."

Gwen smiled. "I am younger than you, Seer."

She laughed, sadness gone for a brief moment before seriousness took over once more, like a break in a cloudy day. "I do so wish I lived in the Elder Days that I so often sing about. Those were clear times, of truth and beauty that could only be found when the world was young, not worn out like it is these days. My mother tells me such stories - of verdant forests and the excitement of a race still young, that I ardently desire to have lived in those days! I have always lived here, in the city - rarely have I ever visited the old forests to the west. I was born in the wrong time, or so Glin tells me."

"You are an elf, Seer, and will live to see these times change. I do not think that this world will stay the way it is now. Once you leave the care of your parents, you may yet be able to see the forests of your mind's eye."

"Not if they are gone," she said softly.

*

They talked for a bit longer, until the sun began to sink closer to the horizon, and Gwen realized it was after four. Quickly excusing herself, and thanking Seer for her hospitality, she left the house feeling refreshed, ready for the storm that might come when she got home. She stopped at a stand to pick up dinner for herself and Feanor, then traipsed home as the factories' whistles signaled the end of the day shifts. Opening the door to the greetings of the cats, she noted the house was quiet, and Feanor was nowhere to be seen.

Setting dinner on the kitchen table, she went to Feanor's room. While the door was mostly closed, it was also ajar, so she gently pushed it open. Feanor was asleep, black hair spread across his pillow. More words had been painted across his walls - LIAR, written over and over in black ink, which stained his fingertips as they dangled over the edge of the bed. The ink had spilled across the floor, velvet night in a pool, reflecting the light. She quietly shut the door with a sigh.

After eating her portion of dinner and putting the rest of it on the stove to keep warm, she sat down once more on the couch to read. She was not surprised to see Feanor mentioned so often, in such a negative light, but was rather impressed by Finrod, whose history she had been unfamiliar with. He had done much during his life in Beleriand, more than she had given him credit. What also surprised her was the fact that Melian had borne another child before the ones she had met, but it made sense. Reading the descriptions of idyllic life, she was not surprised by Seer's desire to live during that time. However, with glossiness over the actions of the Valar, she would simply have to ask if life was truly like that back then, although it seems as though in an official history there would be no blatant contradictions.

Then she heard distinctly Feanor's footsteps coming slowly down the hallway. She set the book down and looked up expectantly when he appeared in the doorway. He had circles under his eyes, but otherwise seemed better than when he had stumbled through the door that morning. "Have you made something? It smells good."

She nodded. "It's on the stove. Would you like me to get it for you?"

He lifted a hand. "No, I can get it. Please, light the furnaces. I've slept enough."

She stood quickly, remembering. "Sir! When I was in the Court of Ulmo, Thorontur told me to give you a message. He said that he is willing to give you room on one of his ships, to trade with the Southern Isles."

He raised his eyebrows. "Thank you for telling me so soon," he said wryly. "I will write him and take up his offer."