The waking ice blue sky, fresh and crisp, belied Guriwen’s churning thoughts and she peered around the corner to Alairif’s cozy cabin to see no sign of life yet, this morning. Settling in the gazebo, she looked over at the pond, silently wishing Cygnus was back and wondering if she should go see him and make a trip to Minas Tirth too.
The stern hard visage of that scout, her sure and sardonic smirk filled her vision. She was like one of Celebannor’s big cats, ready to hold prey down while it delivered the killing snap to the poor creature’s neck.
What am I to do now? She thought miserably, the chaos of yesterday still chased sleep away and her pair of closest confidants’ words of comfort only magnified her unease.
She was worried for all the friends she had made, that tracker, Tornimrad, meant business and had reassured Guri that the whole situation would be ended soon. It did not help that Daervunn, who she had known for years, was part of an angry mob who first chided, then shouted and finally convinced her she needed to act.
Never one to seek conflict, Guriwen was sensitive to yelling, probably stemming from her mother’s frequent tirades, unhappy with her eldest daughter in countless ways, was the way of her childhood. She never spoke of it, after all what do you say, “Oh yes, I could do nothing right for my mother, she detested me? Or my parents? I had one I loved beyond the moon and back, my mother,? Oh no just my father”
“No”, she would answer sadly. The truth was something she shared with a few people, after all there had to be something wrong with her, to not have her mother’s love.
The only problem was who would they trust? Her mind ran endlessly over the friends she had made in the kin. Which side WOULD they choose? Even some of her closest friends with whom she had already started to speak to, she was unsure of. Pedroas, for instance, the adept and ever productive elf, was content to look the other way as he put it.
She could confide in Tivlyn, the tall young woman, who was her oldest friend, and she had admitted to wondering about the notices when Guriwen and Alairif had spoken last week. The one thing Guri was not so certain of would she too act. Aware that people do not always want the same things, losing friends was something Guri had suffered in the past. Will it be happening again?
Suddenly weary from her lack of sleep, Guri started imagining the people who might turn against her. Alairif, while not having had the same experience Guriwen had with leaving kinships, and she wondered if it would come to that. The feeling made her heart sink. It was easier to just leave and not say anything, she thought miserably. But he made it different and was worth any heartache in the end,
She knew Alairif was on her side, the two sharing not only their lives but high moral convictions and a sense of right and wrong, though something had subtly changed within him too. He seemed resolute, likely partly due to his childhood and losing his mother the way he had. Aware her love struggled with his past, his father’s sudden demand they flee what his younger self had though theirs was a happy existence in Minas Tirith or he and his mother running to Bree. Or the loss of his mother, tragically by brigands that left younger Alairif a victim of the seedier side of Bree. How he had risen above it well it was something Guriwen cherished in him. The inherent good of his soul. His past was filled with doubts, some of which the cautious young man, the love of her life, had probably not fully expressed. The pair, still in the throes of new love had left some darker fears and worries in their own hearts and minds, unwilling to let ugly truth into the light of day,
She trusted Ulysior, the aunt of Guri’s student Aureliane, who was ever there for support. Silently, she wondered if one of Ulysiors arrows would fly if things got out of hand. Guri had long known the Campbells were great allies, but Ulysior’s temper was also evident. She had never seen Ulysior so mad, furious at a kinship would murder others, or put a beloved minstrel at such risk.
Guri was not sure of the elf, Naridalis, but Alairif was, and his feelings were strong that she would end up on the same side as them. Guriwen admired the elf’s common sense and her vast wisdom but truly knew little about her. It was Raspi she wondered about. The glib bard was like Frimsi in his want for wealth, but what Frimsi had in spades was an openness about it all, his pure honesty shone in his every conversation, while Raspi lacked that. His actions were peppered with flowery speech, one of the things that made people mistrust minstrels and bards. The saying, “I think he doth protest over much” was fitting. Would he run to warn Deorla? Would he rally the others to aid the rangers in capturing her? Or would he fight them?
Where do I even begin?
Picking up her harp, she strummed the strings, a jangling, dissonant sound matching her harried mind, as she bent to write words down, the knotted of thoughts and feelings fill the page. She crossed words out, rhymed others, her heart feeling the melody leap into her mind matching the words. Whispering them she was not even sure if it would be a song she would ever play. But they served a purpose. Taking a breath, she knew she needed to fight, to take a stand, come what may. She was no longer the humiliated minstrel, unsure of where to turn. Life might change…but that is life.
