Celebhir

He is gone.

The very stones of this place sigh out in weary relief. The imperceptable lightening of the burden of the few captives in chambers far below me. I feel them, the endless, endless misery ... like a thread of smoke rising forever in some darkling tribute.

I watched him depart in the dawn, looking down from this dizzying perch set amongst the high towers. That I could do so ... I hate that I am so piteously grateful. To be so reduced by my own need - or as he would have it - by my own desire unfulfilled.

The filth scatter as I ride out in my glory. The cold mists curl like tattered banners about the fetlocks of my horse. My chosen men spur on hard to try to keep close, but my horse has no peer - and neither do I.

We erupt from the grinning gates, spike-toothed portcullis swinging above us, down into the cold hard valley. Above me on the stone walls a brazen trumpet blares out my challenge to the North.

I take pleasure in the hunt. It is right and fitting that I should  do so, proud heir to a proud lineage. The ride out before dawn, drumming over the earth. The great hounds faithful and eager at the leash. A falcon at the wrist, wildness at my bidding. In the south the amber-eyed lion - even he - must yield his tawny crown to me. Here in the north the wolf and bear bow to my prowess.

But now - the rarest and most precious. The man-hunt.

The fire crackles to itself, bright and warming, as I lay out all the gear that was found on her when she was taken. I begin the detailed inventory... item: long knife, elven-made... length, marks, discription of hilt

... item: fancy leather boots ... colour, design.

... item: one red earring in the shape of a flower, stylised lilly, not elf make. Journeyman work.

'Come now, lady.'

She regards me warily as I carefully take up the slim fingers of one pale hand, tucking them into the velvet-clad crook of my arm. I walk her to the door of the windowless, cheerless room where she has spent all her days since I brought her to the northern fastness. Do I burn her, I wonder, through the cloth of my robe, with the life running through me and the purpose of the east in my veins? There is a burning in her, a cold fire that chills me through the rich fabric. My flesh repulsed by the touch of her, mayhap.

The crumpled paper flies through the air and slams into the fire, raising sparks with the force of my hand. A moment, then it flares with a swift, short brightness. Before me the message-bearer stands rigid, his eyes locked forward facing the exquisite tapestry high above my head. He presumes an air of ease. But his fear scents the room like a rank fox. One tiny betraying muscle flickers in his throat. I am what I am, he can hide little from me.

The sweet dream-smoke curls like ink in water as it snakes upward. She watches it silently with her blue almond eyes, tracking its languid progress.She holds her body alert, wary of my intentions. I lean forward, offer her her a glass of fine red wine. We sit quietly together, sipping the wine. What else can she do?

Know a man's desire and you hold his world.

Deep in my homeland the drowsy heat draws languid resins from the trees, fills herbs with potency. A land  where the drone of the bees in the heat as they fly from flower to flower fills the air with a sonorous temptation to rest, lulling a man to sleep.

At last. I turn the key in the heavy lock, enjoy the sound of the tumblers falling dully. Secure, finally. I have her where I wish her to be.

Here in my silent towers, where the walls are so thick even cries of agony or pleading to the uncaring powers are stiffled and muffled. Where the glamour of her voice and her song cannot weave its bewitching thread into the minds of lesser men. There are many years of life left to me, perhaps beyond my own knowledge. When I am done with the work for my lord of the east, then, she is mine.

She is singing. In all my days I have never heard such. She has been singing for half the day. The first real sounds I have had from her ... and she is singing. As we neared the glooming hills and narrow passes she opened her lips ... and a thread of colour came forth. The sound comingled with the cries of the suprised birds, enticed them to open their throats and join her.