< Previous
Carefully, Olwe dipped his fingers into the jar of butter cream and scooping up a generous dab, he begins to smear it across the stirrup leathers. Crouching down beside the older saddle he had draped over the swell of a barrel, he worked in the cream, making the leather supple and pilant again. The cream will reduce the squeaking and creaking during the long flight back to the Blue Mountains and serve to protect the saddle from the exposure to rain and moisture.
Above him angry skies rained down sleet and hail, and constant winds swept rain into and across the straw scattered on the smithy floor. Earlier this morning, when he found the saddle and first placed it upon the barrel, he took neatsfoot oil and worked it carefully into the seat of the saddle. Sighing, he looks up into the eyes of his companion and much treasured friend, the sea merchant Nole. "It is serviceable, I think, but she can hardly ride it as it is," he says, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.
Nole picks up one of the stirrup leathers. He stretches it a little. He then looks into the eyes of his king. Winter was here in all it's fury. Happy to be in the smithy than at sea, he feels pleasure when in the presence of his king. "These stirrups, might be a little too long," he says hoping he did not hurt the feelings of the crafty Olwe. He did not know anything about saddle building, but it was clear the stirrups are too long for the dwarf.
Rising gracefully to his feet, Olwe frowns in thought and nods. "The billets and rear cinches look sturdy enough. They should hold. But yes, my friend, the stirrups are, indeed, more suited for our legs than one of Aztryd's people." He fumbles for a moment with the stirrup closest to him, shortening the stirrup as far as it will allow. Holding the length of the whole piece out away from the rest of the saddle, he glances up, speculatively at Nole. "Still too long?" he asks.
Thinking about his friend dwarf, one of the few he remembers ever seeing, he thinks about the length the saddle stirrup would have to be so she is comfortable. But seeing as it is as short as it can go, he smiles. "It will have to suffice." He thinks about how short of a time it seems since she arrived. "So she is leaving us. I had hoped she would have stayed longer. I hope her flight by swan is safe."
Olwe leans over the saddle, his expression thoughtful. "I cannot shorten the stirrup more. I see where it has been joined, but I do not have the skill or knowledge on how to replace it or make a new one. " He looks up a moment into Nole's face and then back down. Pulling the saddle up and over so that he could see the underside, he continues to take stock of the condition. "The jockeys should be good. This was fitted to be used with one of the great swans, but the whole seat will make a hard ride nonetheless for one with such short legs." He turns the saddle back down to rest upon the barrel once more. "I don't suppose fitting out a saddle is one of your skills?" He looks up with a wry smile. Then lightning streaks across the sky, chased by a loud thunderclap. "Safe, my friend?" He sighs and lets his hand lightly touch the horn of the saddle. "No, her flight will not be safe. But she wishes not to remain here, and I cannot blame her. Her heart aches for home. I do not think she could stand a journey by sea, and once any ship leaves our shores, those who wish us harm can easily move against us...or her."
Nole watches his king set the saddle back on the barrel and shakes his head. "No, I can't say I have ever had to fit a saddle." He returns Olwe's smile. He then asks a question that has been bothering him. "Why did she choose to go by swan? I thought she would be safer coming with us to Sylvhara, then finding her way overland to the Blue Mountains?"
Olwe glances up, a grim look on his face. "You mean to take her to Sylvhara, and from there she could find her best passage back to the Blue Mountains?" He waited for Nole's response.
"Yes," he answers. "I suggested she accompany us by sea to Sylvhara, and then she can find a way by land to her home. But she told me she did not desire to ride a boat again. She must have had a horrible experience getting here."
"The Casar, I think me, have little love of water. They are the children of the Smith, and so I think the rocking of a boat is not at all to their liking." He looks back up. "I suggested she take passage upon one of the great swans. It would be a trip of hours instead of days. Those who moved against us..." his eyes take on a dark, haunted look for a moment before he continues, "Those who attack us may well be watching the harbor from a safe point. Nole, she has a babe. Alqua could bring her back to her people in a day. No ship can do that." The wind kicks up for a moment and then dies away. The patter of hail against the roof slows and then stops. "I thought to ask Elwing to travel with her, to give her comfort and companionship, but I have not yet sought out my niece. Think you she will go?"
Nole nods in understanding. "I hope this saddle will serve her purpose. It seems well crafted and will hold up long in the winter gales." As he speaks winds seem to push against the walls, forcing cool wafts of air between them. "I believe your niece would accompany her out of her love for you. She will help any way she can."
Aztryd wraps an extra blanket around herself as she walks down the hill from the palace, toward the town, in an effort to keep the blustery winds at bay. After accepting the King's offer of transportation, she has been feeling restless, eager for home, ready to move on. Frost crunches under her feet where the pale morning sun has not yet warmed the ground. She hears voices ahead, in the vicinity of the workshops, and turns aside to investigate. In an open shed, fitted as a blacksmith's workroom, she sees the King, and the sailor, Nolë, busily inspecting … something. Stepping out of the storm, into the workshop, she bows to the two elves. Peering between them, she asks, "What have ye there?"
Olwe turns from the saddle, his blue eyes resting upon Aztryd. "Well met," he answers her, allowing a soft smile to cross his lips. He gestures toward the saddle with his hand. "This is your saddle, little mother," he announces. His eyes sweep her frame, measuring her height and frame. Turning back to the saddle, he says with far more assurance than he feels, "Would you like to try it?"
Nole nods as Aztryd enters and smiles as she looks over the saddle. "Please try it."
Aztryd looks doubtfully at the saddle. It bears a general resemblance to the saddle on the post horse. Gritting her teeth, she attempts to clamber onto it -- but, since the seat is level with her shoulder -- "How do you get onto this?" she asks through clenched jaws.
Olwe looks up at Nole for a second, a brief look of concern crossing his eye as he watches her attempt to mount the saddle. Moving toward her, he kneels and interlaces his fingers, reaching over toward her left foot. "Put your foot in my hands, " he says softly, " And I will give you a boost onto the saddle."
Nole backs away as he watches Aztryd test the saddle. "I suppose that once you are in the saddle you should only have to hold on," he tries to say in a reassuring voice.
Aztryd looks wide-eyed at the kneeling king, then collects herself again, and concentrates on the saddle. "I won't need to get onto this on my own, during the journey? Ye won't be coming along to give me a hand up." Nonetheless, she put her foot onto the king's hands, bracing a hand against the saddle for balance.
Olwe briefly looks up into her face, her anxiety over the trip clearly reflected in her gaze. "Once you are astride the swan, you need only climb down from the saddle when you are safely among your people. And it will be easier to climb down than up for you, I think." His voice was soothing and calm, but he looked back down. He could not give her more assurance than that. As he feels the weight of her foot, the solidness of her body, he gives a push and lifts her up so that she can mount the saddle. "Grab the horn," he instructs, as he unlaces his hands and rises to his feet.
"Oh, aye," Aztryd mutters under her breath, "falling down is always easier than climbing up." As the king boosts her up, she clamps her hands onto the horn, clinging tightly, and, as she did with the post rider, throws her free leg across the saddle. She wobbles, off balance, but her hands grip tightly, and she does not slide off. Leaning low, legs dangling on either side, teeth still clenched, she asks, "Like this?"
Olwe watches her as she clings tightly to the saddle, her legs dangling several inches from the stirrup. Bending down, he looks at the underside of the leather. "The stirrups are still too long, " he says. Standing back up, he looks over at Nole. "Perhaps we could somehow strap her into the saddle?"
Nole continues to watch Aztryd inspect the saddle. At his king's question, he looks over the scraps of leather. "Yes, I suppose we could strap her in the saddle."
Elwing peers over Nole's shoulder and spies Aztryd astride a saddle. Olwe crosses his arms and studies the dwarf mother clinging to the saddle. "I know you have that silver colored binding, which we used to trade the Noldor for some of our Teleri Tequila. It crosses my mind that should we use that, she would be most secure until she arrives." His eyes look up and rest up on his niece. He bobs his head, and his eyes soften. "Of course, there then comes the question of how she will free herself once she arrives."
Nole smiles to Elwing as fond memories of her company return. "Yes." He holds up a roll of the silver coated binding. "I understand these strappings will never break and are very valuable. We should use them to secure Aztryd to the saddle but make sure they do not stick to the swan."
Elwing smiles at her uncle. "Aztryd is going somewhere?"
Olwe claps a hand on Nole's shoulder and moves behind him over to his niece. Looking into her gentle eyes, he reaches out and takes both her hands. Nodding, he answers, his own blue eyes solemn. "She pines for home, niece, and the season is not kind to those who journey now. She has a young one, and once we journey forth from here, as you and I have spoken of, there will be no safety in Alqualonde. In truth, save for Ulmo's protection, there is little safety now. Those who attacked will seek us out, and if we are not ready and have no allies, we will not survive I think. We cannot find allies sitting here, waiting." He squeezes her hands. "I have of you a favor to ask."
Elwing looks from her uncle to Aztryd and thinks of the little Nizl whose welfare seems to be always first and foremost in Aztryd's mind. Then she turns to Nole, and raises an eyebrow at his words. "So uncle, I understand the need for Aztryd to make the journey of which you speak. However, do you REALLY think we need to secure her to the saddle in such a way? There must be another answer!"
Olwe looks back over his shoulder at Aztryd, her legs sticking out, with no purchase on either side of the saddle. Dropping his niece's hands, he crosses back over and kneels beside the left side of the saddle, picking up the useless stirrup and thinking. "Well, niece, the binding would secure her to the saddle. What if she meets a violent updraft, sitting as she is now." He grabs the barrel and rocks it side-to-side. "How would she be able to stay in the seat? The seat is not fitted to her. It is too wide. Could she maintain if the swan drops in altitude suddenly?" He give the barrel a solid thump.
Elwing turns and frowns in deep thought. "Aye, I take your point, uncle." Elwing gazes over at Aztryd, tapping her chin. "I can't for the life of me think of another way to resolve this."
Nole nods. "I think securing her with the silver binding would at least keep Aztryd on the swan. Her people should be able to remove the binding when she arrives."
Aztryd slides from side to side, as the King demonstrates the precariousness of her seating. "This can't be right," she gasps.
Olwe looks up and moves the barrel side-to-side again, his blue eyes watching her body. "We could mount a board, just behind her and then attach leather straps onto the board which would then cinch around her waist," he muses aloud.
Nole: watches the dwarf slide around on the saddle with her short legs loose in the stirrups. "We could attach some straps to her legs too to keep them in the stirrups."
"Have we thought on how to protect Nizl in flight as well?" asks Elwing. "She will need to be covered as it can be extremely cold way up high."
Nodding, Olwe again picked up the stirrup and pressed the upper part against Aztryd's leg. "I think, Nole, we could use the silver binding here. We could wrap the binding several times around her legs and secure each to the stirrup that way." He pauses and nods at his niece's words. "True, we have not discussed that as yet."
Nole nods. "Yes, we could, my king, I agree. As for Nizl, we could strap her inside Aztryd's clothing to protect against the rain and cold. The silver binding will remain tight even in the wet and cold."
"She can ride in my pack. She has done that before, and she would be well wrapped. She, at least, would be secure." Aztryd looks down at her legs, distrustful of the sliding, and equally uncertain about being tied to the saddle.
Elwing nods thoughtfully. "There is one more question," she says as she looks to her uncle again. "How will the swan know the way to where Aztryd needs to travel? I don't recall a swan being able to find the Blue Mountains. What if Aztryd and Nizl end up in the hands of something unspeakable. You just got through explaining that darkness is on the move, Uncle."
Olwe rises from beside the barrel, dropping the stirrup and turning to his niece. The wind picks up wet leaves from just outside the building and sends them twirling and spinning in a mad caper. "You are right, my niece, and so we come to the favor I would ask of you."
Elwing looks inquiringly at her uncle, feeling the warmth of the fire permeating the cold air. "And what would you ask of me, Uncle?"
Resting his gaze upon her face, he watches her expression as he continues. "I would ask that you journey with her and lead the swan back to the Blue Mountains. If she travels by swan, she can be there in a long hard day of flight versus many, many days over both land and sea. You know the way, and Alqua would follow you."
Elwing listens to the words that flow from her Uncle's mouth. As the only one capable of independent flight, she was the only means of the swan finding its way to deliver Aztryd and Nizl safely to their home. As the rain and sleet pelt down around the smithy, she feels the iciness return. Looking to Aztryd and Nole, she resolutely turns her gaze back to her uncle. "You know, Uncle, that a mother's and child's welfare will always be a major consideration for me. I will do this for my sister and her child for she has seen me through dark days and I wish to repay her kindness. When do we leave, Aztryd?" She turns and looks expectantly at the dwarf mother.
Aztryd lowers her eyes at Elwing's kind words. "I am most grateful, sister." Kicking one free leg, she continues. "I do not know when the swan will be ready. Nor when this weather will clear."
Elwing nods and shivers, moving closer to the fire. "I will be ready when needed," she exclaims.
Olwe steps back to Nole's side and leans over, whispering in the sea merchant's ear. "I believe we have some flasks of that ale that that young brewer...what was his name? ...Ael... produced," he looks pointedly at Aztryd. "I think we should give her a flask to drink upon her journey. For fortitude."
Nole smiles to his king. "Ael produced some great ale, worthy to drink to her safe journey and for her fortitude."
Pulling away from Nole a little, his face grows serious. "The swan is ever ready, and Nole and I can modify the saddle now." He steps forward and gently rests his hands on either side of Aztryd's waist, in an offer to lift her from the saddle. Peering into her eyes, Olwe says, "You should leave on the morrow. The weather will not lift, and snow is in the air."
Aztryd turns pale at the thought of a day's flying through storm. "I doubt there is enough ale on this island to make the trip bearable," she mutters under her breath. Yet what else is there to do?
Elwing looks around at Aztryd, Nole and her uncle. "In that case, I think it best I go and rest before this flight. Perhaps we should also pack some food, Aztryd? We need to think about Nizl as well," she coaxes.
Gently, Olwe lifts Aztryd from the saddle, as though she were as light as an elven child and gingerly sets her down on her own two feet. "Take from the storehouses whatever you need, little mother," he tells her. "By the end of the morrow, you shall see the Blue Mountains."
> Next
Above him angry skies rained down sleet and hail, and constant winds swept rain into and across the straw scattered on the smithy floor. Earlier this morning, when he found the saddle and first placed it upon the barrel, he took neatsfoot oil and worked it carefully into the seat of the saddle. Sighing, he looks up into the eyes of his companion and much treasured friend, the sea merchant Nole. "It is serviceable, I think, but she can hardly ride it as it is," he says, raising his voice to be heard over the wind.
Nole picks up one of the stirrup leathers. He stretches it a little. He then looks into the eyes of his king. Winter was here in all it's fury. Happy to be in the smithy than at sea, he feels pleasure when in the presence of his king. "These stirrups, might be a little too long," he says hoping he did not hurt the feelings of the crafty Olwe. He did not know anything about saddle building, but it was clear the stirrups are too long for the dwarf.
Rising gracefully to his feet, Olwe frowns in thought and nods. "The billets and rear cinches look sturdy enough. They should hold. But yes, my friend, the stirrups are, indeed, more suited for our legs than one of Aztryd's people." He fumbles for a moment with the stirrup closest to him, shortening the stirrup as far as it will allow. Holding the length of the whole piece out away from the rest of the saddle, he glances up, speculatively at Nole. "Still too long?" he asks.
Thinking about his friend dwarf, one of the few he remembers ever seeing, he thinks about the length the saddle stirrup would have to be so she is comfortable. But seeing as it is as short as it can go, he smiles. "It will have to suffice." He thinks about how short of a time it seems since she arrived. "So she is leaving us. I had hoped she would have stayed longer. I hope her flight by swan is safe."
Olwe leans over the saddle, his expression thoughtful. "I cannot shorten the stirrup more. I see where it has been joined, but I do not have the skill or knowledge on how to replace it or make a new one. " He looks up a moment into Nole's face and then back down. Pulling the saddle up and over so that he could see the underside, he continues to take stock of the condition. "The jockeys should be good. This was fitted to be used with one of the great swans, but the whole seat will make a hard ride nonetheless for one with such short legs." He turns the saddle back down to rest upon the barrel once more. "I don't suppose fitting out a saddle is one of your skills?" He looks up with a wry smile. Then lightning streaks across the sky, chased by a loud thunderclap. "Safe, my friend?" He sighs and lets his hand lightly touch the horn of the saddle. "No, her flight will not be safe. But she wishes not to remain here, and I cannot blame her. Her heart aches for home. I do not think she could stand a journey by sea, and once any ship leaves our shores, those who wish us harm can easily move against us...or her." Nole watches his king set the saddle back on the barrel and shakes his head. "No, I can't say I have ever had to fit a saddle." He returns Olwe's smile. He then asks a question that has been bothering him. "Why did she choose to go by swan? I thought she would be safer coming with us to Sylvhara, then finding her way overland to the Blue Mountains?"
Olwe glances up, a grim look on his face. "You mean to take her to Sylvhara, and from there she could find her best passage back to the Blue Mountains?" He waited for Nole's response.
"Yes," he answers. "I suggested she accompany us by sea to Sylvhara, and then she can find a way by land to her home. But she told me she did not desire to ride a boat again. She must have had a horrible experience getting here."
"The Casar, I think me, have little love of water. They are the children of the Smith, and so I think the rocking of a boat is not at all to their liking." He looks back up. "I suggested she take passage upon one of the great swans. It would be a trip of hours instead of days. Those who moved against us..." his eyes take on a dark, haunted look for a moment before he continues, "Those who attack us may well be watching the harbor from a safe point. Nole, she has a babe. Alqua could bring her back to her people in a day. No ship can do that." The wind kicks up for a moment and then dies away. The patter of hail against the roof slows and then stops. "I thought to ask Elwing to travel with her, to give her comfort and companionship, but I have not yet sought out my niece. Think you she will go?"
Nole nods in understanding. "I hope this saddle will serve her purpose. It seems well crafted and will hold up long in the winter gales." As he speaks winds seem to push against the walls, forcing cool wafts of air between them. "I believe your niece would accompany her out of her love for you. She will help any way she can."
Aztryd wraps an extra blanket around herself as she walks down the hill from the palace, toward the town, in an effort to keep the blustery winds at bay. After accepting the King's offer of transportation, she has been feeling restless, eager for home, ready to move on. Frost crunches under her feet where the pale morning sun has not yet warmed the ground. She hears voices ahead, in the vicinity of the workshops, and turns aside to investigate. In an open shed, fitted as a blacksmith's workroom, she sees the King, and the sailor, Nolë, busily inspecting … something. Stepping out of the storm, into the workshop, she bows to the two elves. Peering between them, she asks, "What have ye there?"
Olwe turns from the saddle, his blue eyes resting upon Aztryd. "Well met," he answers her, allowing a soft smile to cross his lips. He gestures toward the saddle with his hand. "This is your saddle, little mother," he announces. His eyes sweep her frame, measuring her height and frame. Turning back to the saddle, he says with far more assurance than he feels, "Would you like to try it?"
Nole nods as Aztryd enters and smiles as she looks over the saddle. "Please try it."
Aztryd looks doubtfully at the saddle. It bears a general resemblance to the saddle on the post horse. Gritting her teeth, she attempts to clamber onto it -- but, since the seat is level with her shoulder -- "How do you get onto this?" she asks through clenched jaws.
Olwe looks up at Nole for a second, a brief look of concern crossing his eye as he watches her attempt to mount the saddle. Moving toward her, he kneels and interlaces his fingers, reaching over toward her left foot. "Put your foot in my hands, " he says softly, " And I will give you a boost onto the saddle."
Nole backs away as he watches Aztryd test the saddle. "I suppose that once you are in the saddle you should only have to hold on," he tries to say in a reassuring voice.
Aztryd looks wide-eyed at the kneeling king, then collects herself again, and concentrates on the saddle. "I won't need to get onto this on my own, during the journey? Ye won't be coming along to give me a hand up." Nonetheless, she put her foot onto the king's hands, bracing a hand against the saddle for balance.
Olwe briefly looks up into her face, her anxiety over the trip clearly reflected in her gaze. "Once you are astride the swan, you need only climb down from the saddle when you are safely among your people. And it will be easier to climb down than up for you, I think." His voice was soothing and calm, but he looked back down. He could not give her more assurance than that. As he feels the weight of her foot, the solidness of her body, he gives a push and lifts her up so that she can mount the saddle. "Grab the horn," he instructs, as he unlaces his hands and rises to his feet.
"Oh, aye," Aztryd mutters under her breath, "falling down is always easier than climbing up." As the king boosts her up, she clamps her hands onto the horn, clinging tightly, and, as she did with the post rider, throws her free leg across the saddle. She wobbles, off balance, but her hands grip tightly, and she does not slide off. Leaning low, legs dangling on either side, teeth still clenched, she asks, "Like this?"
Olwe watches her as she clings tightly to the saddle, her legs dangling several inches from the stirrup. Bending down, he looks at the underside of the leather. "The stirrups are still too long, " he says. Standing back up, he looks over at Nole. "Perhaps we could somehow strap her into the saddle?"
Nole continues to watch Aztryd inspect the saddle. At his king's question, he looks over the scraps of leather. "Yes, I suppose we could strap her in the saddle."
Elwing peers over Nole's shoulder and spies Aztryd astride a saddle. Olwe crosses his arms and studies the dwarf mother clinging to the saddle. "I know you have that silver colored binding, which we used to trade the Noldor for some of our Teleri Tequila. It crosses my mind that should we use that, she would be most secure until she arrives." His eyes look up and rest up on his niece. He bobs his head, and his eyes soften. "Of course, there then comes the question of how she will free herself once she arrives."
Nole smiles to Elwing as fond memories of her company return. "Yes." He holds up a roll of the silver coated binding. "I understand these strappings will never break and are very valuable. We should use them to secure Aztryd to the saddle but make sure they do not stick to the swan."
Elwing smiles at her uncle. "Aztryd is going somewhere?"
Olwe claps a hand on Nole's shoulder and moves behind him over to his niece. Looking into her gentle eyes, he reaches out and takes both her hands. Nodding, he answers, his own blue eyes solemn. "She pines for home, niece, and the season is not kind to those who journey now. She has a young one, and once we journey forth from here, as you and I have spoken of, there will be no safety in Alqualonde. In truth, save for Ulmo's protection, there is little safety now. Those who attacked will seek us out, and if we are not ready and have no allies, we will not survive I think. We cannot find allies sitting here, waiting." He squeezes her hands. "I have of you a favor to ask."
Elwing looks from her uncle to Aztryd and thinks of the little Nizl whose welfare seems to be always first and foremost in Aztryd's mind. Then she turns to Nole, and raises an eyebrow at his words. "So uncle, I understand the need for Aztryd to make the journey of which you speak. However, do you REALLY think we need to secure her to the saddle in such a way? There must be another answer!"
Olwe looks back over his shoulder at Aztryd, her legs sticking out, with no purchase on either side of the saddle. Dropping his niece's hands, he crosses back over and kneels beside the left side of the saddle, picking up the useless stirrup and thinking. "Well, niece, the binding would secure her to the saddle. What if she meets a violent updraft, sitting as she is now." He grabs the barrel and rocks it side-to-side. "How would she be able to stay in the seat? The seat is not fitted to her. It is too wide. Could she maintain if the swan drops in altitude suddenly?" He give the barrel a solid thump.
Elwing turns and frowns in deep thought. "Aye, I take your point, uncle." Elwing gazes over at Aztryd, tapping her chin. "I can't for the life of me think of another way to resolve this."
Nole nods. "I think securing her with the silver binding would at least keep Aztryd on the swan. Her people should be able to remove the binding when she arrives."
Aztryd slides from side to side, as the King demonstrates the precariousness of her seating. "This can't be right," she gasps.
Olwe looks up and moves the barrel side-to-side again, his blue eyes watching her body. "We could mount a board, just behind her and then attach leather straps onto the board which would then cinch around her waist," he muses aloud.
Nole: watches the dwarf slide around on the saddle with her short legs loose in the stirrups. "We could attach some straps to her legs too to keep them in the stirrups."
"Have we thought on how to protect Nizl in flight as well?" asks Elwing. "She will need to be covered as it can be extremely cold way up high."
Nodding, Olwe again picked up the stirrup and pressed the upper part against Aztryd's leg. "I think, Nole, we could use the silver binding here. We could wrap the binding several times around her legs and secure each to the stirrup that way." He pauses and nods at his niece's words. "True, we have not discussed that as yet."
Nole nods. "Yes, we could, my king, I agree. As for Nizl, we could strap her inside Aztryd's clothing to protect against the rain and cold. The silver binding will remain tight even in the wet and cold."
"She can ride in my pack. She has done that before, and she would be well wrapped. She, at least, would be secure." Aztryd looks down at her legs, distrustful of the sliding, and equally uncertain about being tied to the saddle.
Elwing nods thoughtfully. "There is one more question," she says as she looks to her uncle again. "How will the swan know the way to where Aztryd needs to travel? I don't recall a swan being able to find the Blue Mountains. What if Aztryd and Nizl end up in the hands of something unspeakable. You just got through explaining that darkness is on the move, Uncle."
Olwe rises from beside the barrel, dropping the stirrup and turning to his niece. The wind picks up wet leaves from just outside the building and sends them twirling and spinning in a mad caper. "You are right, my niece, and so we come to the favor I would ask of you."
Elwing looks inquiringly at her uncle, feeling the warmth of the fire permeating the cold air. "And what would you ask of me, Uncle?"
Resting his gaze upon her face, he watches her expression as he continues. "I would ask that you journey with her and lead the swan back to the Blue Mountains. If she travels by swan, she can be there in a long hard day of flight versus many, many days over both land and sea. You know the way, and Alqua would follow you."
Elwing listens to the words that flow from her Uncle's mouth. As the only one capable of independent flight, she was the only means of the swan finding its way to deliver Aztryd and Nizl safely to their home. As the rain and sleet pelt down around the smithy, she feels the iciness return. Looking to Aztryd and Nole, she resolutely turns her gaze back to her uncle. "You know, Uncle, that a mother's and child's welfare will always be a major consideration for me. I will do this for my sister and her child for she has seen me through dark days and I wish to repay her kindness. When do we leave, Aztryd?" She turns and looks expectantly at the dwarf mother.
Aztryd lowers her eyes at Elwing's kind words. "I am most grateful, sister." Kicking one free leg, she continues. "I do not know when the swan will be ready. Nor when this weather will clear."
Elwing nods and shivers, moving closer to the fire. "I will be ready when needed," she exclaims.
Olwe steps back to Nole's side and leans over, whispering in the sea merchant's ear. "I believe we have some flasks of that ale that that young brewer...what was his name? ...Ael... produced," he looks pointedly at Aztryd. "I think we should give her a flask to drink upon her journey. For fortitude."
Nole smiles to his king. "Ael produced some great ale, worthy to drink to her safe journey and for her fortitude."
Pulling away from Nole a little, his face grows serious. "The swan is ever ready, and Nole and I can modify the saddle now." He steps forward and gently rests his hands on either side of Aztryd's waist, in an offer to lift her from the saddle. Peering into her eyes, Olwe says, "You should leave on the morrow. The weather will not lift, and snow is in the air."
Aztryd turns pale at the thought of a day's flying through storm. "I doubt there is enough ale on this island to make the trip bearable," she mutters under her breath. Yet what else is there to do?
Elwing looks around at Aztryd, Nole and her uncle. "In that case, I think it best I go and rest before this flight. Perhaps we should also pack some food, Aztryd? We need to think about Nizl as well," she coaxes.
Gently, Olwe lifts Aztryd from the saddle, as though she were as light as an elven child and gingerly sets her down on her own two feet. "Take from the storehouses whatever you need, little mother," he tells her. "By the end of the morrow, you shall see the Blue Mountains."
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