Shadow of the West

[Nurumaiel]

Korak stood in the doorway, surverying the room with a look of great disgust. He had expected enemies to be gathered here, but those he despised most were among those present, sitting, talking, laughing, and scowling. He gestured to the maid, and told her to bring his mother to a table that she wished. He did not feel like sitting, for he cared for none of these people, and the Princess was not yet present.

The Lady Arshalous was, of course, present, though he could not see her from where he stood. She had said she was prepared for the banquet, so it seemed very likely that she intended to go. He hoped he would not have to speak to her again. If she approached them he would let Morashk speak, and he would leave, on the pretence of finding his mother.

There was the Priest Tarkan. Korak had never cared much for him. There was some air about him that stirred up aversion. But, on the other hand, there was something very pleasing about him, as well. Lord Korak gathered a sense of a kindred spirit, though he knew not how. Studying the rest of the room, he thought that he should care to speak to Tarkan the most. Unless it were Zamara, for she was the least dislikeable of the present company. But she was already with Tarkan, and so he need not cause himself trouble by seeking her elsewhere.

He approached the two, Morashk following in his wake, and before them he gave a courtly bow, casting a quick and haughty glance over the Elf. "My Priest Tarkan, and Priestess Zamara," said the Lord Korak, "it is a pleasure to see you here." He did not really think it was a pleasure to see anyone there, but he could not deny that it was a pleasure to have two bearable people present, since all others he saw were hated enemies or far below him. "I give to you by greetings, as well as the kindest greetings of my Lady mother, who is grateful to you for your devoted service in the temple."

[alaklondewen]

Arlomë let her eyes follow her husband’s back until he had rounded the corner and was out of her sight. Then, she sighed. She had only just found him, and now he was gone again. Really, she should have kept her temper in check and not argued with him no matter how she felt. Elrigon needed her support and she had not given it to him just now. Concern had been written all over him, and she knew he was frustrated at this Emissary’s arrival. Maybe not his arrival, per se, but Elrigon deserved to know what this man’s intentions were and had not yet been able to meet him. She would make it up to him...yes, she nodded slightly to herself.

Turning her attention back to the filling hall, she scanned its guests for not just familiar faces, but those she respected. No Avari had entered yet, and Arlomë exhaled audibly and chewed the inside of her cheek in awkward frustration. That’s when her eyes caught sight of Lady Arshalous. The woman was not of Arlomë’s kindred, but she had a good head on her shoulders and a quick wit. Two things the elf could respect in a mortal.

Arlomë excused herself several times to pass between the finely dressed nobles who were milling around waiting for the royal family’s appearance until she reached the small round table with the lady. “Good evening to you, Arshalous.” Arlomë nodded her head in greeting.

“And to you, Arlomë,” Arshalous answered and nodded her head in turn.

“Do you mind if I sit a moment until the royal entrance?” Without waiting for a reply, Arlomë lowered herself to the small table.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

He watched as the people of this land gathered for the banquet and turned over in his mind how the day's events had proceeded. It had gone well with the King, but how could it not have done so after he accepted the Ring? He reached into his clothes and found his own Ring, the mate of the one now borne by Faroz and stroked it longingly. It had been several days since he had last worn it, and he found the temptation to slip it on once more almost too much to resist. But he had been noticed already by the lady and she was sure to tell others that he was about. To disappear now would be to call attention to himself. He sighed and closed his eyes, seeking strength from his master for the task ahead. He must cloak himself from their eyes this night, and for many days ahead. For the time, he had to put on a fair appearance.

Girding himself to the task ahead he walked out of the shadows and toward the banqueting hall. As he approached he saw the lady who had accosted him earlier seated at a table with a female Elf. He snarled despite himself and quickly turned away. His master had warned him of the Avarin, for despite their long sundering with their western kindred, they remained of the Elder race.

A cough at his back made him turn round and he came face to face with the Chamberlain. It was clear that the man did not entirely like the Emissary, and that he resented him for having taken the King away from his duties this day. "My King has said that you are to be brought to the party that will be dining at the Queen's table."

The Emissary frowned, saying, "I thought that I was to eat with the King."

"Indeed you are," was the clipped response. "The King is dining with the Queen this night. Come." Before giving the Emissary a chance to respond, the Chamberlain turned and walked toward a small group of finely dressed people who were standing close by the door that the royal family would enter through once all was ready. He ushered the Emissary into their presence, interrupting their conversation and making a series of quick introductions. The Emissary was composed throughout the little ritual, bowing slightly to each of the people in turn. Among the party was another Elf, and he was careful to meet his eye and return his look with steady confidence. Once the introductions had been made the Chamberlain began to officiously organise the party. “The King and Queen are almost ready for the entrance. They have bid me remind you General Morgôs that you and your family,” and at this he looked sidelong toward the female Elf at table with the Lady Arshalous, “are to eat with them at their table, as are you Emissary. The High Priestess Zamara and Priest Tarkan will be seated at the table next to the King and Queen. I do not know where the Prince and Princess shall be eating,” he added somewhat fussily, “for the Queen has said that they might do as they wish this night.” He clearly disapproved of the Queen’s judgement in this matter. “My lords and ladies, I must leave you now, for I must look into the kitchens.” And with that, the Chamberlain was off once more.

[Orofaniel]

Evrathol was not going to judge the Emissary before he had talked to him; that was his decision. Of curse he was going to have an opinion of him, but he wasn’t going to express it to anyone else. He kept those things to himself as he was a respected member of the Royal court. He wouldn’t dare to speak ill or unjust of anyone that were guests of His Majesty himself. Usually, Evrathol never spoke of such things in public, although no one could control his own mind. At the same time, Evrathol felt a need to have a strong opinion about him, because everyone talked about the Emissary – and only him. While looking upon The Emissary, Evrathol could, however, only see a strong character, but nothing more than that. Part of it because the Emissary stayed unchanged; he showed no particular joy for the banquet that had been prepared especially for him, nor did he show any excitement. This was Evrathol’s impression of him.

Studying him a bit closer he could perhaps spot a stubborn creature, with a strong will, but those were only wild guesses.

Feeling utterly ignorant about the stranger he wanted to approach him so that perhaps Evrathol could learn more about him. His legs however would not allow him – or was it his mind that stopped him from doing so? Towards this man he felt unconfident, and weak. How could this be? Evrathol was a confident elf, who had been raised by strong characters. He didn't know why he felt uncertain and uncomfortable with the stranger's presence, but it made him scared. He asked himself why he was doing this to himself, but he found no answer. What was this obnoxious thoughts of his? Why should he, Evrathol, feel uncomfortable in his position? This was completely idiotic. He clenched his teeth, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. His head was spinning as the thoughts of the Emissary would not leave him.

As the Emissary bowed slightly to each guest, he finally turned to Evrathol. A small bow was offered him, and Evrathol greeted him back in suitable manner; “My good lord, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Evrathol offered, as polite as he possibly could be. “Greetings to you as well, my kind elf,” the Emissary said, smiling weakly. Those were the only words exchanged between them before the Emissary moved on to the next guest.

[Imladris]

Arshalous stared at Arlomë and smiled at her. They only had a slight acquaintance but she tended to like the elven woman. Arshalous that it was especially good of her to be part of the queen's retinue considering that the queen came from Alanzia.

"Have you had a chance to speak with the Emissary?" asked Arshalous.

Arlomë shook her head and said, "I have only seen glimpses of him. Have you?"

Arshalous nodded. "He was..." she tried to find the right word. "He had a quiet power in him," she said thoughtfully. "He commands one's respect. It's a pity that our nobles are not more like him," she added bitterly.

Arlomë frowned a little and said, "You think the alliance would be good then?"

"Yes I do," said Arshalous. "We would be very foolish if we did not ally ourselves with them."

Arlomë nodded and then asked with a small laugh, "Why are you sitting in the corner?"

Arshalous narrowed her eyes in irritation and said delicately, "Parties are such annoying things and more than half the people here I do not care for. I would much rather be at home curled on a couch in my library."

"I am sorry," said Arlomë.

"Oh don't be," said Arshalous waving her hand as if she was sweeping Arlomë apology into the dustbin. "It's not your fault that most everyone here is decidedly unpleasant to be converse with."

[Bêthberry]

Bekah listened as her soft leather sandals trod the gravel path. As she neared the King's garden the sense of chill dissipated and she felt safer. Through the vine-entwined corridor which connected her garden with his, she caught sight of Faroz talking with their children. It was a sight she did not often see and in the few moments she took to compose herself she watched them and allowed herself some reminiscences.

Saimak was now a little older than his father had been when she had first seen him, but what a difference. Bekah remembered the confident, even cocky adolescent whose poise and glance had so terrified her, barely into her teens. She had never seen one of the enemy before and there he was standing in front of her, being announced as her intended husband. She had been barely able to meet his eyes and had stood shaking beside him at their wedding ceremony. Yet her prayers had been answered, for he had left with his father immediately after the banquet to return to Pashia. It was two years later she had crossed over the mountains herself with Homay and her bodyguards. It was at another banquet she saw him again, took her place at his side in her gown of glowing amber and cream. He was less contemptuous of her then. He had been a gentle husband to her, firm but not unkind, but she knew he had never loved her as she had never come to love him, despite what her father had told when she had pleaded not to be married to him. She looked at him now to see the young man she had married but saw only the distinguished shades of grey at his temples, the frim jawline which had become firmer, the anxious years in his eyes. She moved quickly towards him.

"My family," she acknowledged, kissing her daughter on both sides of her face--a salutation Gjeela had only recently agreed to renew--and placing her hands on her son's brow. To Fayez she bowed her head and offerred her hand.

"Forgive my tardiness. I stopped in my garden for a few words of prayer for our banquet tonight."

The King took her hand again in the formal salute of husband and wife. The he stopped and stared at her.

"Your final preparations have come to naught."

"Pardon, my lord?"

"The jasmine flowers in your headress have wilted and those in your belt are crushed." He plucked one from her headress and held it before her.

"How came this to happen?"

"I, I know not, my Lord. I came directly from my quarters to my garden to yours. Although in my garden I felt a most unusual air, like the cold air of the mountain snows but so much more frigid."

"You shall do without them this eveing. The guests await us." With his own hands he plucked the other flowers from her headress, feeling them still stiff with cold. Bekah herself removed those from her belt and felt a similar chill. He looked at her eyes, finding belief in her words in the touch of the flowers himself.

"Let us enter, my Lord. Siamak, Gjeela, wil you march in front of us?"

The two nodded despite grimaces.

Fayez then held his right arm out in front of him, his hand facing up. Bekah placed her left hand, palm facing down, in his and together the two marched side by side, their hands recreating the old symbol of the sun's light wrapped over the moon. "Let me meet this visitor who has so many strange stories to tell us," she said aloud.

Then, as they walked together in stately form, Bekah wispered to him.

"My Lord, none of the guards were in my garden. Have they all been called elsewhere? The Emissary is to dine with us, but what of the fifty men or so who arrived with him? Has Morgôs prepared a watch from our guard to accompany them at their own lodgings tonioght?

Faroz halted but momentarily; none would have seen it, but Bekah felt the slight hesitation of motion through his arm. They made their entrance as he was reflecting upon her words.

[alaklondewen]

"It's not your fault that most everyone here is decidedly unpleasant to be converse with." The woman was insulting the elf, and as Arshalous turned her head, Arlomë covered the smile that crept across her face. Of course the comment might have offended many people, and her ease at saying it was probably why the woman was sitting in the corner alone, but the elf was quite comfortable with herself and her conversational ability and, consequently, found the situation amusing.

A short silence fell over the two, and Arlomë looked over the hall once more. Another smile appeared on her delicate elven features when she saw Elrigon near the door and, to her surprise, the Emissary. “I think I shall become acquainted with this mysterious man myself,” the elf spoke suddenly and rose...her abrupt movement causing Arshalous to sit up. “Arshalous, as usual, this has been...interesting. I do hope we can do it again.” The woman did not answer but nodded her head, still scowling.

The Emissary’s back faced Arlomë as she approached. His long hair was not straight like the majority of Pashtian men, rather it fell in dark waves about the shoulders of his black and purple robes. The elf stepped gracefully around the stranger’s body and slipped her arm through her husband’s, smiling up at Elrigon has she stopped. She bowed her head slightly to the priest, and then more deeply to High Priestess, showing her respect to Rhais by doing so. Once the formal greetings were complete, Arlomë turned to the Emissary. She said nothing, but waited for her husband to introduce them, which he did promptly.

“It is a pleasure,” she said as her eyes met his. His gaze was steady as she took her hand in his and bowed to kiss it. “The pleasure is mine, Lady,” his voice was unwavering and confident, and then he placed his lips to her hand. As his lips touched her, a chill ran up her spine and the fine hairs raised on her neck. She pulled her hand away from him and tightened her grip on Elrigon’s arm.

It was this moment a commotion arose from the nearby and the people of Pashtia readied themselved as the Royal family began to enter the great hall. As everyone turned their attention to the King and Queen, Arlomë could not shake the intensely strange feeling that came over her when the Emissary kissed her hand. Glancing from the man to Elrigon, she wondered if she should tell her husband, or if maybe it was all in her head. Whichever, she knew she would keep her eye on this stranger from the West.