For the first chapter, click here.
Flattering words
and heavy wine
have one thing in common:
Both of them cause discomfort.
North of Middle-Earth, Land of the Conclave, End of the Third Age
Thangrineth raised the door knocker of heavy marble and let it fall against the rock-wood. A single, dark sound rang up.
She made five slow steps backwards to perceive Úinor's sumptuous house that had been made of black wood in its entirety. The renovations on the facade had been completed: intricate carvings, small decorative pillars on the fronts, polished silver plates which drew the eyes of by-passers.
Envy gnawed on her.
Úinor granted himself every passing of a season a new exterior composition of his hexagonal domicile that stood in the south of the lively Tåm-plaza. An extraordinary location!
The sculptures he had made together with the most renown artists of the Dark Elves, so that no one else could compare to these breath-taking figures of brazen Galvorn.
In four steps height flaunted the opulent battle scene on the front in which center stood Úinor. To his feet lay eradicated Orcs, trolls and barbarians. While their bodies had been made of metal, they had fit in the original faces of the killed ones into the figures and with coating made durable against the weather. A truly costly procedure that required the exact precision of the artist in handling the sensitive as well as baleful flesh and the coating. Few dared themselves to try that challenge, for the skin was not allowed to loose its color, nor dry up in the sunlight or even mold. That might have conjured up the fascinating effect of the unstoppable decay, but was not wished in effigies of that kind.
Thangrineth regarded the dead closer. Dread, pain and agony lay on their expressions. And also there where they had suffered wounds and one could see now open spots and broken bones the bronze became flesh and bone again. Spectacular, without a doubt. And exaggerated, bragging.
But who lived in the very center of the Conclave, to that at the Tåm-plaza had to show what he or she had. Only heroes, influential Elves and the best artists got a spot to live here. And this spot cost a fortune. The expensive, multistory buildings were sometimes so quickly bought and sold again that one did not even see the new neighbor before he had to give way for a richer Elf.
There were enough who spend all their goods to hold themselves with the others on a level and yet in the end had to move back to their old houses where mockery was a certainty for them.
Thangrineth's mouth became a narrow line. She would soon possess such a house of her own, had to be part of that society. She had chosen a triangular, in itself turned tower for herself, as well standing at the Tåm-plaza. A beautiful, playful construct, made from the blackest of wood; the walls were decorated with runes that at night would gleam brighter than those of the other houses around it. It was meant for her. The ascension would very soon occur, the promise for that she carried in her bag. Then envy would come to take Úinor as its target.
She saw to the door that was just being opened for her. A servant of the race of Man, about ten years old, stood in a bright-blue robe before her, bowed deeply and moved away to let her pass.
She marched past him, no greeting, not even a look. The ugly boy was not worth to be recognized.
Thangrineth found it almost insolent that Úinor let the boy work without a veil before his face. She knew of servants and slaves that at least were somewhat pretty to look at, if one would seek for something simple. But this exemplar?! With such broad cheek-bones and padded lips that reminded of a donkey?
She knew the way that would lead her to the hall of gathering and stepped after a short wandering into the by sun-sails protected spot in the yard of the house, where rare bone-white grass was growing, between which Úinor had let Night-narcissi be planted. Around it stood black roses, baby's breath and around the grey rocks was winding dim red ivy. It seemed as if nature would have forgotten to use color in the center of the garden. Úinor knew of the cultivation of plants that flattered the eye.
Thangrineth saw the host and four other Elves sitting at a dark-brown table. Goblets stood infront of them and they conversed quietly. All of them were Comets. She was the only one who was wearing an armor, the others had chosen light clothing in somber colors. After Thangrineth's opinion that exactly was the difference about them to her: The others slid at times into the role of the warrior, but she lived that path. Only at the scaffold did she lay down her armor; during the art of painting she became someone wholly else.
A slave made them aware of the arrival of a new guest.
Úinor rose up, came with spread arms towards her. Still, the gesture was full with deliberation, full of elegance and a trace of softness. Too soft for a true warrior, albeit it was fitting for a politician.
»Thangrineth! You have been expected yearningly«, said the host winking. »We already worried your newest picture would be more important to you than our convictions.«
»I still had get new color«, she answered hastily and offered Úinor a hand, so that she would not find herself in an embrace. Forced physical contact in such a manner was an aversion to her. She sat down at the table and threw a look into the circle: the leaders of a new defensive strategy of the land of the Conclave.
Armonior raised his brows. »A specific one, I take it?«
»Yes. Dimgold-yellow.« She was angered with herself to have mentioned it in the first place, for now she had to explain her tale of how she had to abide a loss against that weak Cadhalor. Shortly she summarized the event. »So did my picture remain incomplete«, she closed her tale. »I gave it to the flames.«
»Cadhalor, soso.« Armonior looked over to Úinor. »Is it not quite peculiar that of all you two clash with each other?«
»The fate seemed to have found it amusing to let the contrasts meet«, Thangrineth agreed with him. »Enough of that waverer. What have our eyes and ears in the surrounding Middle-Earth to report? Is something among it with which we can convince the Conclave of our path?«
Úinor nodded and pointed at Galdórion, who then stood up. He did so every time when he spoke. Thangrineth held him for a cutup. But sadly he was a cutup with good spies and track-seekers who observed the east of the land.
»There are signs that the tribes of Jangovar and the Khundolar can maintain their position among their people and strike deep into south and western lands. Much to my amazement, I must say. They have eliminated the first resistance along the lands of Dorwinion and the Anduin and the men of the regions mostly joined their cause. So does that scum order around several hundred men and at least the half of those Orc-mounters can hold themselves in the saddle.« Galdórion looked a bit sour. »Of course are these horse not to be compared with our steeds. But as much as I regret to say: They are able to launch a sudden mounted attack to the north, south and west. Give the damn band of robbers another two or three years and I see them reign over vast parts of Rhovanion.«
»That would be how many able soldiers?«, Thangrineth asked in between. »Counted together?«
»If they truly can overthrow the borders of the Dale-lands and acquire more mercenaries? Hard to say. A few thousand, if not more.«
Armonior took elegantly a sip from his goblet. »Send out an assassin who undoes the leader of these Orc-mounters. Then they will rip themselves to shreds in a fight about succession. It has always been so«, he said condescendingly.
Thangrineth raised a hand, to emphasize her objection. »We should do nothing. Should the Easterlings throw down the kingdoms of Man - would there be a better reason to expand our borders in all directions to extinguish such flames of threat?«
»So you think, yes? Well, I see it differently: If we wait too long, could the dirt be capable of preparing against an assault and could deal more losses to us than needed. Our kin is not anymore that numerous it used to be in the elder days, after the Eldar left Cuivuienen. We should not waste our precious blood like so«, Galdórion countered. »In case of war, I do not trust our vassals. They belonged once to Easterling tribes and the men of the distant mountain-ranges and wastelands and in their hearts they are still Orc-favorers. Who knows what decision they will make on the field of battle. Blood is thicker than water.«
»And is more suitable to draw«, Úinor added and called forth quiet laughter from the round.
Thangrineth inhaled audibly and starred at Galdórion. »I did not say that we should wait. I said, we should not attack until they have conquered vast regions of the kingdoms of Man.« She reached into her bag and drew forth a piece of parchment; slowly she spread it before her on the table and pushed it with two fingers forth so that it would lie in the middle. She drew in the amazement on the faces of the Comets, the disbelief and the envy, as they saw the seal of the Conclave upon it. »I will meet with the exalted members of the Conclave tomorrow. They wish to speak with me.«
»All fortune is with you!« Úinor could not took his eyes off the invitation. »They will bless you, Thangrineth!« One could hear the awe in his voice. »You will receive their blessing. What a privilege!«
»An important advocate for all Comets«, Armonior added instantly. It seemed as if he had lost any trace of hostility and practiced himself in played subservience.
Thangrineth knew the maneuvers of deceit. Still she was reveling in the attention that they gave her and estimated at the same time how she would spin a taking speech from the recent news, that would ensnare the Conclave and convince them in a net of words to carry the way with one strike into every direction.
If need be, she sleep again after the audience.
Thangrineth checked her armor in the mirror, brought the cloak into order and brought her face nigh to the reflecting surface, to recognize any imperfection that she might have overlooked. Flawless, pale enough and with a light note of soot around the upper lids to emphasize her eyes: Such she could step infront of the Conclave.
In her mind she went through all her points with which she wanted to convince the Conclave, as soon as she had received their blessing. They would surely follow her opinion.
She did not expect that they would make her leading captain of the entire campaign, but a front they would certainly grant her. She wanted the East, the direction where the enemy could not hide. She would drive them off to the farthest of mountains and eradicate them.
Thangrineth rose up and smiled at her mirror image. Certain of victory. Condescendingly, patronizingly. So she wanted to step infront of her brethren once she had gotten the blessing and her new task. They should taste what they had given her to eat for so long. She did not doubt that she would become a legend as commander among her people. She would be remembered in the size of Eöl and Maeglin! Grim, sweet satisfaction rushed through her.
Thangrineth did not belong to those who left their future to the cause of fate and those who waited. Unending life meant nothing if it was wasted with hesitation.
An Elf came up to her. He was dressed in a robe of black and dark-green fabric, at his side hung a knife. The runes at the edge of the neck-part of the garment showed him as one of the most trusted ones of the Conclave. He was allowed to move amidst of them, to look at them unasked. The Conclave was living in secrecy of who they were from the Eldar and other races, but was renowned among its own people for their otherworldly grace. They were those few that remained of their people who had awoken by the waters at the beginning of the elvish race. They were raised perfection. Divinity.
»Follow me«, said the Elf without any greeting of note of friendliness.
With every step that Thangrineth took through the sanctum, rose her joy and excitement: She was in the very center of the land, before the highest of their kin!
They walked through an empty hall whose walls were made of basalt and came into a tower with a free standing stair house, where five stair-cases were enfolding each other and rose up. The entirety of it required well forty steps to pass one time through. Dark green, grey, dark blue and yellow light fell through the dyed glass and gave the overwhelming sight something surreal, lost in reverie. Birds flew about their heads, lost feathers descended unto the ground of polished bone plates and changed their color, always depending through what light they passed.
The servant went towards the stairs and Thangrineth followed him, climbed up stair for stair that had been made of the shields of beaten foes and their bones. The walls around them were made of black wood. Several protrusion connected the stair-cases with one another, until they grew together into a single stair-way at the top.
Thangrineth looked down. The polished white of the ground shimmered weak and lay far below them.
»The stairs of subjugation. From here to the ground they count one-thousand steps«, said the servant and took the last step.
Thangrineth breathed a little faster than usual. The physical arduousness had not challenged her, it was the fault of the excitement.
»Where do you bring me?«, she dared to ask, after the Elf had spoken. »Where will the Conclave hear me?«
The servant turned to his right, walked over the gallery and held towards a double-door made entirely of Galvorn, on which surface was set a single dark star. Runes reminded the guest to cast down their eyes.
The servant remained infront of the door and laid both hands unto the handles. »Ready?«
»Yes.« Thangrineth looked down. So must her servants and slaves feel when they came before her. Especially Inúr. Well, not anymore, after she had taken the young woman's sight. There was nothing to be seen for her. Only memories. She congratulated herself again to that wonderful idea that let the woman suffer twice.
Slowly grinding the doors were opened. Dark red light fell from the room behind them and laid itself on the leather of Thangrineth's boots, made them black. Thangrineth set her eyes unto the seam of the robe of the servant and followed him. From time to time, she saw secretively to the right and to the left.
It was the most beautiful hall she had ever seen, through which she walked. On the walls hung pictures of woven hair that itself came from creatures that surely existed now only legend. Never could these works be copied. The skill with which such art had been created ensnared Thangrineth, so that she walked deliberately slower. Abstract patterns, full of powerful illumination, full of allure and somberness. Made by or for the Conclave?
Almost she would have walked into the back of the servant, who had stopped infront of a socket. »I bring you Thangrineth, who you have called to you«, he said and took four steps to the side.
Thangrineth saw tipped, slender boots with silver, engraved buckles. On the height of the lower leg hung crimson fabric with a hand-broad seam of breath thin rolled gold and Mithril stripes, as well as patterns made of the thinnest of Galvorn. A treasure without compare in these days! The air around her smelled of incenses and precious essences.
»So that is her: Thangrineth«, said a bright, clear voice that belonged to an elvish woman. Such purity! For that sound she would instantly jump down the thousand steps high stairs if the voice would have wanted it so.
She threw herself down before the socket, on which the members of the Conclave stood. »My life for you, exalted leaders of our kin!«, she called out fervent and felt a wave of pride rise up in her. She was so close that she could touch them if she would just reach forward. Alone and so close!
»Your may life may endure unendingly, for we have need of an Elf like you, Thangrineth«, spoke now a voice of an elvish man to her and also his voice was carrying the note of ancient days.
There Thangrineth perceived steps behind her, two pair of feet, one of them wore heavy boots. A servant and who else? Jealousy rose up in her.
The steps closed in on the socket and then a servant said: »I bring you Cadhalor, who you have called to you.«
The revolting »No!« that wanted to travel over her lips in an angry call, Thangrineth could repress just in the last second.
