Shadow of the West

[Imladris]

Arshalous sat up straighter, a vague feeling of fear tingling in her stomach. Too late she realized that she had blundered in giving such a straight answer to the King; that was not how the game of politics was played. She had much to learn...she had spent far too much time away from court...far more to learn that she had realized.

She knew that the King's request was almost equivalent to a command. She remembered stories of nobles who had spurned a King's decrees -- they had not come to a good end, and the King's wish had ultimately been done. But the unfortunate noble had definitely come out of the ordeal with robes splattered with mud, and cowed like an insolent puppy. The image did not appeal to her.

She set down her cup on the low table, to better hide the trembling in her hands. The fear had given way to anger. Why should she have to give her word to pay for the building of a temple she did not think was right because a King ordered her to? Why did a King command her conscience...demand of her to do what he thought was right?

He knew that there might well be a plot behind this building of a temple...why would he want her to support that? Did he think that the building of the temple was for the good of the realm? She caught her breath at the thought, remembering, from the stories that she had read, that sometimes what you wanted must be given up for the good of others...she reluctantly realized that what the king said was true...foolish fears must not hinder them...

And was she not a noble of the realm who had sworn allegiance to her King? But when did that allegiance become willful blindness?

She weighed the two problems in her minds: compromising with evil (if the building of the temple could be considered evil) or if she was merely concerned with her own preference. She did not want to suffer for a preference...that would be a waste. And her vow to serve her king must be taken into acount as well...

She clenched her silken robes in her fingers. Inclining her head in a short bow, she said thickly, "Yes...my King...I will help pay for the temple."

[Bêthberry]

And so the morning passed between the Queen and the Royal Children. Each was warily supplying ideas, half afraid the other would take the idea and make more of it than the first had initially planned. Yet at least slowly they were gaining some sense of the wide range of issues the alliance implied. The sun rose higher in the sky, its beams shining hotly into the Queen's balcony and the white heat making their heads dizzy with its brightness. Through the open window came the unmistakable sounds of the market, shrill voices of vendors and sellers, counter-offers from buyers and customers, screeches and calls and cries of caged animals, birds squawking, half-wild dogs fighting for the offal thrown out by the butchers, children shrieking with the exuberance of childhood. This was the centre of the Pashtian economy, for even the large trading ventures and the private arrangements depended upon the wealth of the open market.

Homay brought in lunch, cucumbers and yoghurt, wilted greens, shaved, roasted meat layered over bread, figs and pomegranates and apricots, hot, sweet tea. The three ate in silence, for once letting the sharp prongs of words fall by the wayside.

Finally, after the three had eaten, Bekah returned to the question of the Emissary.

"We have not considered how such an alliance might affect the alliance with Alanzia." It was a simple statement, but something about saying it brought a tenseness to the conversation.

"Would your brother-monarch object?" Siamak inquired. He had always been curious about this uncle of his who he had never seen.

"He might. He might question if it would bring him into an alliance with this Annatar, without the benefit of choice," replied Bekah.

"Are we not free to make our own alliances?" asked Gjeela

"We are. Your father is," replied Bekah, "but, still, alliances can turn a country's interests in different dirctions. Siamak, has Morgôs mentioned if we have any scouts who can report to us about the western lands beyond the desert?"

"Not yet, but I can ask," the Prince replied.

"Surely that would take too long," objected the Princess. "Do we know how long the Emissary will stay?"

"A good question, Gjeela. I have not been told."

"What does he offer us?" Siamak asked.

"That I do not know either," Bekah replied, "although, it is said he did offer a gift, a magnificent gift. Have either of you seen it?"

"I saw a black pouch, a velvet bag, I think, and a flash of gold," replied the Prince.

"But it has not been displayed, has it? It has not been publically acknowledged and placed on display in the court?" Bekah tried to mask her interest in this, but her children could tell she was intrigued by this.

"Should it have been?" inquired Gjeela.

"It depends upon the terms of the offer of the alliance. Was the gift offerred to Pashtia in the person of her King? Or to the King personally?" Bekah became lost in thought and her children began to fidget. Their complaints over some of the food brought back her attention. "Well, I have kept you long enough, my children. I'm sure you have business of your own to conclude. My thanks for your patience and your attention."

Each child rose, offering Bekah a kiss on her cheek, a ritual each observed in private as well as in public. She remained seated as Homay showed the children out. Faroz has not shown me the gift. He has not displayed it to the court. Is it offered to him alone? Does this Annatar wish Faroz's alliance and not Pashtia's? She sat a long time wondering if she should ask the King about the gift privately, or challenge the Emissary publically about it. Then she roused herself, knowing she had other matters to discuss later with the High Priestess.

[Orofaniel]

The morning had slowly passed over to mid-day. It was time for Evrathol to visit the temple. He knew that his mother, Arlomë was there, but this time it would not be the reason of his going; Evarthol wanted to see Tarkan. Some way or the other, he had been feeling restless since the meeting with Tarkan the evening before. He felt a bit guilty for not offering Tarkan the thoughts the Priest deserved. Yesterday Evrathol realised that he been too cold and restricted at the meeting with the Priest. Evrathol somehow wanted to visit him, to see if Evarthol had broken, or weakened the small "friendship" between them – if there even existed such a “friendship”. If so, he wondered if it had been ruined by Evarthol’s coldness. Hopefully, Tarkan wouldn't have noticed anything. Evarthol could have been over doing the whole scene, but he decided to pay Tarkan a visit anyhow.

The Temple rose before him like a noble, well served statue.

Taking a step inside, he realised that he hadn't been at the Temple for quite some time now.

Evarthol heard low voices. Looking just behind the corner he didn't see anyone. He reckoned it was his mother's voice. The corridor went slightly forwards then it took a turn. Evarthol followed it. The country yard that the corridor led too, also led to his mother...and Zamara - the High Priestess. Evarthol wondered if had come in a bad time since both of them seemed occupied with the heavy debate going on between the two of them. Feeling slightly embarrassed, he decided to stand there for a moment, listening. He realised then that it might seem that he was eavesdropping, something that was quite unsuitable for his noble character. Slowly, he straightened his tunic, walking swiftly out in the country yard. The two women were caught of guard and both of them seemed very much surprised to see the young elf there. "I apologise for coming unannounced. It was certainly not my intention. Please do forgive me," Evrathol said, in the most polite manner.

Arlomë looked at The High Priestess, as she was looking for approval, or so Evrathol thought. The High Priestess turned her eyes to Evrathol, as followed Arlomë. "No need to apologise, son," Arlomë began. "I'm just surprised to see you here, as you don't usually visit the temple. Please note that I'm very surprised, but not at all unhappy to see you. Quite on the contrary; It's delightful to see you here," Arlomë said, walking some steps towards him, before she stopped. Zamzara came from behind; her steps were far longer than Arlome's. "Indeed. I hoped to get a better look at you son after yesterday evening," Zamara said to Arlomë. The elf smiled weakly. Evrathol offered a short laugh, before he greeted both of them properly.

"So, mother, may I ask what you two were discussing?" he asked Arlomë. Arlomë remained quiet for a moment. "Well, what else is there to discuss than the Emissary these days?" She replied. "I should have known," Evarthol then said, smiling at Zamara. "It is not only the politicians who are curious, or even - should I say, worried - is it?" he asked Zamara quietly. The High Priestess looked at Evrathol, but didn’t answer.

"Now, Evarthol, dear, what is the reason of this pleasant surprise?" Arlomë then said, turning the discussion n a different path.

"Oh well, I have no other intensions than to please you, mother," Evrathol replied, smiling at Arlomë. She laughed joyously, but Zamara kept quiet. "No, dear, is that so?" Arlomë then asked, grinning. "Well, yes. I knew that you'd be here, and I thought I'd might pay you a short visit. Besides, I didn't get to talk with The High Priestess properly yesterday, so I wanted to make up for it," he said, looking at Zamara. "Well, I'm very glad you came. The Banquet was wonderful, wasn't it?" Zamara then said. "Indeed it was. I'm highly curious about the decision that his Majesty’s children are going to make," Evrathol said, without showing any lack of trust that the King had made the right decision when he had told the attendants at the banquet that it would be the Prince and the Princess who would decide whether they should be an alliance between the two countries. "Yes, that will indeed be very interesting," The High Priestess answered.

Their conversation was interrupted by the Priest. He was now standing in the country yard with his friend, and servant in the temple, Pelin. Feeling obliged to greet him, and also becoming aware of his true meaning of being here at the Temple, Evarthol decided to leave the two women. "Good day to both of you," Evrathol said, kissing the hands of both ladies.

Tarkan and Pelin were now on their way into the corridor, where Evrathol caught up with them. "Greetings, both of you," Evarthol said. "Ah, it's Evrathol, isn't it?" Tarkan said, looking at Pelin. "Indeed," Evrathol said, smiling. "We were about to eat, would you care to join us?" Tarkan then asked. "More than anything," Evrathol replied.

[Nurumaiel]

Lord Korak, standing in the doorway, could not resist a little smile of smugness, and he went to Arshalous and bowed courteously before her, saying: "Lady Cousin, how kind it is of you to aid me in this endeavour." Then he bowed also to the King, and he kissed his mother's hand. "Your pardon, Majesty, for arriving late. I rode with all haste, but I regret deeply I was out riding at all."

"You could not have known that his Majesty would send for us, son," said Lady Hababa, patting Korak's hand. "I have taken your place in your absence. You have arrived most quickly."

He gave her a fleeting smile, and wondered why she talked so much. She was, no doubt, pleased that the two cousins would join forces on one subject, and more than likely she hoped that it would bring them together. Observing Arshalous' sharp face, full of spite, he could not think that there was any chance of it.

"You know what we're discussing, Lord Korak?" the King questioned.

"Yes, Majesty," said Korak, "or, at least, I believe I do. I heard my cousin's last words to you, and I gather that you are discussing the temple, and also that she has agreed to help pay for it. It is good news to my ears, to hear that I will be assisted in this venture, especially by my charming cousin." However well he concealed with mockery and spite in his voice, it could not escape his mother's ears, who knew him better than all others, and at once her hopes of a reconciliation were dashed, and she bowed her head sorrowfully.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

With the arrival of Lord Korak and the assent of Lady Arshalous the conversation turned to more practical matters of finance. The King spent the morning speaking with them both of schedules and supplies, materials and money. Throughout the conversations it became clear that there was a strange dynamic at work between the two cousins. The Lady, while opposed to the idea of the Temple, was intelligent and quick-witted about it. She demonstrated an innate grasp of the issues, and despite her lack of practical knowledge about construction, leant many good suggestions. The Lord, on the other hand, showed little more than enthusiasm for the High Temple, and clear malicious glee at the Lady’s having been forced to agree to it. In all other matters, his slow mind was useless to the King, and he found himself gradually turning entirely to the Lady Arshalous for counsel. Faroz at first thought that the animosity was entirely on one side, but within a couple of hours it became clear that the Lady had as little affection for her cousin as the other way around. The King was careful to hide his own interest in this, for the seed of a plan was beginning to form in his innermost thoughts. The hold that the Lord Korak had over him had galled him for too many years. With the Ring, there was now something that he could do about that, but the did not remove the danger of upsetting the delicate balance he had established in his kingdom with the promise of marriage between his daughter and Korak. Were he to do anything to upset that balance he had to make sure that there would be someone beyond the immediate circles of the Court to help him re-establish it. He realised that perhaps the Lady Arshalous would be the one to do that for him. He had cowed her with his threats, but not brought her to him. She was obviously loyal, and dutiful, but for his plans to succeed, he would need to find some way to bind her to him more fiercely.

The Lady Hababa was nodding in her cushions, and Korak’s attempts to appear interested in the discussions were becoming increasingly sporadic, when the Chamberlain Jarult entered to announce that the Emissary had arrived. The King noted with keen interest the sudden light that flashed from the Lady Arshalous’s eyes. Faroz eagerly bade the Emissary to join them upon the balcony, and ordered that the midday meal be served to them all out there.

Ashnaz came to them, resplendent in some of the clothes that the King had ordered taken to him that morning. Like a member of the Pashtian nobility he was clad in long robes of flowing material that hung to and swayed about his unseen feet. The clothes that he had chosen were, however, entirely black and there was neither ornament nor refinement to them. The light seemed to pass through his form leaving only a rich black shadow. His face, rising almost mysteriously above the material, was lit with a warm smile, and his handsome eyes glinted at them. His hair had been carefully brushed and swept back from his face, and Faroz could tell that he had oiled it after the fashion of Pashtia. It was clear that his friend had gone to some effort to close the distance between his own foreign nature and the ways of this realm. Rising to greet him, the King said, “You look well in those robes. I am happy to see you dressing in the manner of my realm. I have no doubt that you were warm enough yesterday in that close-fitting tunic! Is not this kind of dress more suited to my land?”

The Emissary bowed his head and placed his hand on his chest. Faroz could sense that hidden beneath his clothes where his hand lay was Ashnaz’s own Ring, and for some reason the King’s mind went back to his experience last night. Even at the memory the Emissary looked into his eyes and it flew into Faroz’s mind that somehow his friend knew all of what had passed. They gazed at one another in silence for a moment so brief that none there noticed it, but in that brief space of time, no more than a heartbeat, they exchanged a special kind of greeting, sealing a compact of a sort.

The servants came out with a meal of stewed fruits and slow-roasted vegetables, with several platters of fragrant rice. The King and his friend sat down upon the cushions with the others, and the Emissary apologised if he had come too soon upon the hour he had been appointed. “Not at all my friend,” Faroz replied. “You have arrived in good time. I only was so caught up in conversation on an important matter that I neglected to note the passing of time.” He turned to the others and once more resumed his duties as host. “I do not think that you have met the Lord Korak or the Ladies Arshalous and Hababa?”

“On the contrary, Majesty, I did have the opportunity of greeting the Lord Korak last night, and the pleasure of meeting the Lady Arshalous, although I am glad to do so again.” There was a moment of formal greeting between them all. The King noted the keen interest in his friend displayed by Arshalous, as well as the bored manner of Korak. The Lady Hababa shook herself awake for the introduction and after being reminded of who the stranger was, made a fair reply to his greeting. When his was accomplished, Ashnaz asked them what matter had kept them in discussion for the morning.

“We have been discussing the construction of a new High Temple in honour of the god Rae,” Faroz replied as he accepted a plate from one of the servants.

“Indeed?” the Emissary replied. “I regret that one of the things about which I am most ignorant is your religion, my King. I believe that you worship two gods? A male and a female, if I am right?”

It was the Lady Arshalous who answered him, telling him about Rae and Rhais as they ate. The Emissary asked many questions about them both, but it became clear that he was more interested in learning of Rae and of his role in their world. He seemed surprised that the sky god was not regarded as highly as the goddess of the Earth, and he asked why this was so. “The goddess Rhais is supreme over the god Rae,” Arshalous explained, “as it is from the Earth that life comes to us in the form of food and water. Without her, there would be no existence. It is also from her that we have the metals that we adorn ourselves with, and that allow us to fashion the tools that we use.”

The Emissary replied to the Lady. “But do you not owe light and life to your sky god, Rae? Is he not also one who gives you rain and sustenance for your crops?”

The Lady frowned at this, quite prettily. “Rain? Indeed, Rae will sometimes send us water from the sky, but it comes only once or twice a year, and always it is a cause for woe. The rains here are too heavy for our crops and wash them into the river. No, our crops depend upon the river and the water that we are able to divert from it to our farms. In ancient days, people believed that the river came directly from Rhais where she dwelt in the mountains, crying for the loss of her children who were killed by Rae. But we have long since learned that the waters spring from the icy fields that lie atop the mountains, and from the more gentle rains that fall upon their lower slopes.”

“Ah,” the Emissary said with mild triumph, “so you do acknowledge that it is to the sky that you owe water and life for your crops!”

“I never denied it,” Arshalous replied lightly, “but the rains that Rae sends are destructive. It is only the presence of Rhais’s mountains, and her goodness in diverting that rain to us in the Great River, that means we can use the water safely.”

Faroz laughed. “There you are my friend!” he said to the Emissary. “Such is the piety of the Lady Arshalous and many like her. Do not attempt to sway her!”

The Emissary smiled back and replied, “Never would I seek to alter one’s view of their gods, my King. I ask only because in my own kingdom, we too worship a god much like your Rae. I had hoped that by learning a bit more about Him, we might together find that we have more in common than we supposed.”

“And what is the name of your god of the sky?” the Lady Hababa asked, surprising them all that she had been alert during the conversation.

The Emissary turned his attention to the old woman for the first time since greeting her. “His name, my Lady, is Melkor, which means in the tongue of old, ‘he who arises in might.’ He is the greatest of all the gods, and so we worship Him and Him alone.”

[Novnarwen]

Tarkan

And so things had taken an interesting turn. It was obvious that Evrathol had something on his mind; why else had he come? Tarkan was overly convinced that the elf’s visit was not caused by his sudden urge to pray in the temple to the Goddess, as the elf seldom had been here. Nor was it very likely that he was here to really see his mother, as he had been pretty short with her and Zamara. Tarkan doubted Evrathol had all of a sudden turned very religious, and so, already, the Priest concluded that the elf had come to see him. At the banquet, the previous night, Tarkan couldn't help noticing the elf casting long glances his way; the elf had seemed very eager to catch his attention. Remembering this, the Priest's eyes lit up, now kindling with a strange light. He guessed what the Elf was thinking of; the Emissary. This would probably be the subject of their conversation. Greatly excited by this, what seemed like newly gained popularity; Tarkan invited the young elf to eat breakfast with himself and Pelin. Politely, the fair creature accepted.

Pelin and Evrathol settled themselves on two gigantic cushions; meanwhile the Priest placed himself, cross-legged, on the low divan in front of them. It was only fair that he did so. To them, in the Temple, he was their superior; he was their Priest. Shortly after, a young girl came trotting in, holding a tray laden with bread and fruits. Tea was also brought to them, smelling deliciously of various herbs. The three men accepted gladly.

"So, my dear Evrathol.. Have you come here to join the midday prayer?" Tarkan asked, being almost certain that it was not so. He tried to study the elf's reaction towards this blunt question, but he wasn't able to, as the dim light made it impossible to make out his fair face's true features. Instead, not even being slightly annoyed by this, as he was confident that the elf was thinking of the Emissary rather than the midday prayers, he sipped his tea. By the sound coming from Pelin, Tarkan judged he did the same.

"I must admit that I haven't," the elf replied calmly, after a moment's silence. Just as I guessed.. the priest thought to himself, holding his mask. Evrathol's voice was shaking slightly as if embarrassed by the Priest's inquiry. Tarkan frowned; he hoped he hadn't been too frank with him, but it didn’t matter in the long run care. (Evrathol would never be useful to him, so why care?) He had only been polite, trying to start a conversation. Curious, but polite. He didn't after all mind that Evrathol was here. In fact, he would be rather happy if he had joined the prayers, but the Priest knew that there was something else.

No one spoke for a few moments. It was as if none of them dared to speak, afraid that a secret that none of them would want to take part in, and keep secret, was going to be revealed. The strange feeling that had risen inside the Priest’s chest, when first seeing Evrathol, came streaming back. He felt petty where he sat, having no control over anything whatsoever. He had no idea what he was supposed to say, and he certainly didn't know anything of Evrathol's doings here; only that the most probable was that the Emissary’s visit to Pasthia was constantly on the elf’s mind, and that he thought the Priest could help him. Could he? He wondered. Could he help him? He had not himself been able to form an opinion of the stranger, and he had no idea when he would be given the chance either. His Brother seemed to have no interest in his thoughts on the matter; of the Emissary’s coming. Was it not natural to take council with friends, families and religious leaders? Realising this, Tarakn frowned in disgust. Again, he had been ignored.

"I must speak with you, about the Banquet.. and about my mother, Arlomë.."

Caught of guard by this sudden statement, coming from the man whose outlines he couldn't see properly, he felt his body tremble with anxiety to know what the elf was speaking of. Being absolutely stricken, not knowing what to say or do, he swallowed and said to himself: This has indeed taken an interesting turn..

[Firefoot]

Siamak was endlessly relieved to have a break between the meeting with his mother and the meeting with the Emissary. He had forgotten just how wearing a conversation with his sister could be - all her “brother dear-ing” and subtly condescending manner had given him a headache and reminded him of the precise reason that he avoided extended conversation with her. And now he would have to spend even more time with her during the meeting with the Emissary, which was looming up only too quickly.

The meeting had not been without use, however; in fact, it had been very helpful. He had several new issues to consider, and though he was no closer to reaching a decision, his mind was clearer. He also had a better idea of the types of questions to bring up with the Emissary later on.

In an attempt to relieve the dull throb in his head and better his mood, Siamak decided to take a walk through the gardens. The sun shone clearly, and the day was warm but not uncomfortable for those accustomed to the desert climate. He confined himself to the more private gardens and saw no other people, thankfully. His walk had the desired calming effect and Siamak was soon ready if uneager to go through another round. He returned to his own quarters, wondering how long he would have to wait. He wanted to get it over with on one hand, but on the other he wished he didn’t have to do it at all. Duty again.

Gjeelea showed up first, looking refreshed and stately as ever. “Good to see you again, Siamak dear,” she said. Siamak could feel the headache returning already. He answered as politely as he could and showed Gjeelea to his reception room. When she saw that the Emissary was not yet present, the princess muttered something unintelligible; the only words Siamak caught were “Emissary” and “late.” Siamak sat on a low couch and Gjeelea followed suit, reclining nearby. He was uneasy in his sister’s presence, and she seemed to enjoy is discomfort. Siamak felt like a mouse being stared at by a cat who had decided a bit of sport was in order. Though tempted to feel intimidated, in a new wash of boldness Siamak returned her gaze with a glare of his own. Gjeelea appeared somewhat taken aback, but her expression spoke volumes, as if she were simply humoring him. Siamak wished he could speak out against her and show her that he would not be under her sway in this or any other decision, but he couldn’t. Right then, he hated her, hated her for her impregnable mental strength, and hated himself for not being able to stand up to her.

He was saved by a knock on the door heralding the Emissary’s arrival. Siamak collected himself as best he could as the Emissary was shown in. After one last look at him, Gjeelea turned her attention to the Emissary. Immediately, Siamak noticed that the foreigner had changed his manner of dress to Pashtia’s. It only made Siamak more wary. He would not be won over by the Emissary nearly so easily as his father had been.

“My apologies for being late. I was finishing up a fascination discussion with the king and some nobles over your religion,” said the Emissary. Siamak nodded absently.

“Emissary, my sister and I have not had the convenience of hearing all you have told our father, so I would ask that you would go over the terms of your offer of alliance again with us. Also, I am curious to know why your lord takes such interest in an alliance with a country so far away from his own,” said Siamak. He listened carefully to the Emissary’s answer, paying especial heed to his manner. His response was nothing Siamak had not expected, and though it seemed straightforward, Siamak could not dislodge the suspicion that in every seed of truth there was a grain of lie.