Lihan Taifun and AelKennyr Rhiano
Aztryd trudges along the quiet corridors of the palace, lugging a stack of blankets upstairs. The weather has turned sharp, and living above ground like this, the chill winds cut into every room. Her legs ache from the oversized stair steps, even after all these weeks, but she grits her teeth and keeps moving, one step after another. Turning a corner, she notices a figure against a dark window.
Olwe folds his arms across his chest, blue eyes intent as he stares, watching fingers of lightning stretch from sky to earth. The cold of the wind outside curl about the wall-length windows, finding cracks through which to stealthily enter the palace and rob it of that little bit of warmth. At his back is the warmth of the palace, his home for the passage of oh-so many years. His face feels the chill caress his cheeks. His mind tonight, though, was many leagues away, with his Cousin in Sylvhara. Many night and many days have passed since he had sent his swan winging toward her palace; neither the swan nor a message in return has reached him. Absently he lifts a hand fold into a loose fist, thumb extended, and rubs his bottom lip. The weather holds him here, and the thought of receiving word from Comet, but he dares not delay overlong, for the weather shall not be kinder ere the end of the approaching winter. And he fears that winter shall be dark this year.
A flash of lightning illuminates the figure -- the King. Almost immediately, thunder rattles the tower. Would lightning be attracted to towers, as it is to mountain peaks, Aztryd wonders nervously. Biting her lip, she approaches the king. Sketching an awkward bow, without dropping the blankets, she says tentatively, "'Tis a wild night, is it not, your Majesty?"
Deep in thought, blinded by the lightning and his musings, deafened by the thunder and his own doubts, Olwe did not hear the approach of Aztryd. He whirls around, blue eyes registering his surprise, and his body tense. But recognition flashes across his face, and he relaxes. "Greetings, little mother," he answers her smoothing in Sindarin, his voice soft and the tone calm. "Indeed, it is." He pauses to look back out over the Swanhaven, blanketed in a darkness relieved only by the lightning arching across the sky. "Not a night to be out-of-doors." He smiles gently, and tilts his chin up and down in a pointing gesture. "It is growing every colder. Shall those be enough for you and your little one?"
"Aye, these should indeed. Though, I do not know how much colder the weather may get, this being only the start of the winter." She takes a deep breath, and plunges on, giving voice to the thoughts that have been circling in her head. "It is my own home I have been missing. You Elves have been as kind as anyone could wish. But our home is still far away, and we have tarried here long."
Olwe gives a short nod, his eyes resting upon her face. Slowly he drops his arms by his side and nods again. "We are as strangers to you, " He says slowly, thoughtfully. "And no matter what we may do, our buildings, our furnishings are hardly accommodating to one of your stature." He speaks as much to himself, his voice soft and musing, as he does to the dwarven mother before him. The Casar, he thinks, are a hardy people, but she has a child that she must look to. To Aztryd, he says simply, "Winter is pressing hard upon our door. The cold and rain is but precursor for far less gentle weather, I think. And your home is far away. As you said, you have tarried here long. You are ready for home?"
"Aye, indeed, ready for home," she sighs. She makes no mention of the dragons and demon she has seen here. "Yon sea lies between here any our home. Better to face that sea before the storms become worse." She clamps her teeth tightly, hoping that the memory of a week of sea-sickness does not show on her face.
Olwe looks over his shoulder, out the window, where below the sea tosses and turns like a restless, willful child in a fevered dream. The winds pick up outside and howl, pelting the thick glass with small hail. He looks back over at Aztryd. "It tests the skill of the sailors, this time of the season," he says softly. "I hear in your voice, the longing for home and kin, but I wonder if the journey is one wise to take with a small one."
Aztryd 's stomach sinks, hearing those words, from one of a sailing people. She takes another steadying breath. "I would not willingly sail in any weather, and even less in winter storm. If this were a road I could walk, I would do so. But …" She waves a hand helplessly, in the direction of the window, and the unseen leagues of sea beyond.
She frowns suddenly, as a new thought strikes her. "These storms, will they be a danger to your sailors? It would not be right to put them at risk for the sake of longing for home."
"Risk or no, Nole and I must soon leave our home shores, ere greater enemies seek us here and pick up off as ants upon their own home hill. The weather shall not improve for some time, as we have but entered Winter's domain," he says, and he turns back to the window, raising a hand to press it lightly against the cold glass., his warm fingers leaving a moist impression as he pulls his hand away. His eyes drop from the angry skies down to the seas, and as a flash of lightning illumines the docks, his sharp eyes pick out the outline of the youngest of the mighty great swans which pull their ships to these shores ages past. He watches the swan bob gracefully upon the troubled waters, and then says, without turning. "A journey by sea may take many moons, in this weather." He then turns back to Aztryd, but if you are brave, little mother, that trek may be reduced to hours."
Aztryd looses the color in her face, at the mention of "greater enemies". Eyes wide, she asks cautiously, "How might it be reduced?"
The wind howled and then dropped into a still silence. Olwe's gaze softens as he sees Aztryd's pallid expression. "There are other ways to cross the sea than by ship. One may fly, for example, either by one's own volition, if one has the means, or by riding astride a creature that flies," he answers. Then, watching her face carefully, he adds," Like astride a giant swan."
Aztryd stares out the window. Lightning still, at intervals, illuminates the harbor below them. She remembers Lady Elwing turning herself into a bird and soaring into the sky. That much of the King's words she has seen for herself. She turns back to face him. "'Astride'? Such as one would ride a horse?"
Olwe gestures toward the harbor, and where the giant swan sat, bobbing upon the tumultous waves. "Just so, " he answers. "It was Alqua and her brothers and sisters who brought our ships safely to the shore of the Swanhaven. She would bring you and your babe to the Blue Mountains. I would ask my neice to accompany you, little mother, to give you courage and companionship, for this is no small thing for one bought to love of the earth as you to contemplate, I think me." He looks back out the window at the harbor. "But it would mean you would be home ere a day passes, and you would not have to again board a ship."
Aztryd's stomach feels as cold as the air leaking around the edges of the window. Yet her other choices -- to remain here for the months of stormy winter, or to take ship in those same storms -- hold no attraction at all. Forcing a smile, she says, "At least it would be over in a day. Since leaving my husband's home, I have already ridden on a horse and a ship, and lodged high in a tower of an Elf King who lives on an island. Would not riding home on a swan round out the story nicely?"
How brave she is, Olwe thinks, and he rewards her bravado with a soft laugh. "It would, indeed, and be such a tale not soon forgotten those who witness it," he answers. Few though we are, he thinks. "It would be a sight to see you arrive at your home, I grant."
Aztryd smiles in spite of herself, imagining the reaction of her own family and childhood friends. "This truly could be done? One of those swans could carry us? Could it find its way, across the trackless sea?"
Olwe nods and goes down on one knee so that his gaze is level with hers. "I have ridden her myself, little mother, and the tamest trail pony is not half so gentle a ride. You will find it to be the same." He reaches out and gently takes a small hand in his larger one. "I give you the word of a king: you would ride in greater safety and comfort and be home all the sooner. On the morrow, I can see how my trappings and saddle may be adjusted for one of your size, if in the morn you tell me this is your wish. Sleep upon it, Aztryd, but sleep not overlong upon it. The darkness of winter is coming fast upon us. "Thus warning her, he gently drops her hand and rises to his feet.
Aztryd freezes, stunned, as the king drops to his knee. "You are most gracious," she stammers, color flooding back into her face. "This is a most generous offer."
He looks at her with a kindly expression. "I, too, once had a small child. I would have scaled any mountain, crossed any sea, and take any conveyance that would have brought her, and I to safety. We are safe in Alqualonde, for now. "His voice grows a little distant. "Lord Ulmo protects us, but even with his protection, we will not remain safe. It is no place for a child. It is no place for a mother." His face grows grim. "Not now. Perhaps not for a long time to come." He turns his face back to the window. "Tell me on the morrow your decision, Aztryd. Whatever you choose, we shall try to see you safely home as best as we may."
Aztryd bows again, suddenly remembering the blankets she has been holding. "On the morrow," she replies, formally. She backs a few steps away from the King, then continues her journey down the corridor. Under her breath, she whispers, "Nizl, dearest, we will be going home at last!"
> Next
Olwe folds his arms across his chest, blue eyes intent as he stares, watching fingers of lightning stretch from sky to earth. The cold of the wind outside curl about the wall-length windows, finding cracks through which to stealthily enter the palace and rob it of that little bit of warmth. At his back is the warmth of the palace, his home for the passage of oh-so many years. His face feels the chill caress his cheeks. His mind tonight, though, was many leagues away, with his Cousin in Sylvhara. Many night and many days have passed since he had sent his swan winging toward her palace; neither the swan nor a message in return has reached him. Absently he lifts a hand fold into a loose fist, thumb extended, and rubs his bottom lip. The weather holds him here, and the thought of receiving word from Comet, but he dares not delay overlong, for the weather shall not be kinder ere the end of the approaching winter. And he fears that winter shall be dark this year.
A flash of lightning illuminates the figure -- the King. Almost immediately, thunder rattles the tower. Would lightning be attracted to towers, as it is to mountain peaks, Aztryd wonders nervously. Biting her lip, she approaches the king. Sketching an awkward bow, without dropping the blankets, she says tentatively, "'Tis a wild night, is it not, your Majesty?"
Deep in thought, blinded by the lightning and his musings, deafened by the thunder and his own doubts, Olwe did not hear the approach of Aztryd. He whirls around, blue eyes registering his surprise, and his body tense. But recognition flashes across his face, and he relaxes. "Greetings, little mother," he answers her smoothing in Sindarin, his voice soft and the tone calm. "Indeed, it is." He pauses to look back out over the Swanhaven, blanketed in a darkness relieved only by the lightning arching across the sky. "Not a night to be out-of-doors." He smiles gently, and tilts his chin up and down in a pointing gesture. "It is growing every colder. Shall those be enough for you and your little one?"
"Aye, these should indeed. Though, I do not know how much colder the weather may get, this being only the start of the winter." She takes a deep breath, and plunges on, giving voice to the thoughts that have been circling in her head. "It is my own home I have been missing. You Elves have been as kind as anyone could wish. But our home is still far away, and we have tarried here long."
Olwe gives a short nod, his eyes resting upon her face. Slowly he drops his arms by his side and nods again. "We are as strangers to you, " He says slowly, thoughtfully. "And no matter what we may do, our buildings, our furnishings are hardly accommodating to one of your stature." He speaks as much to himself, his voice soft and musing, as he does to the dwarven mother before him. The Casar, he thinks, are a hardy people, but she has a child that she must look to. To Aztryd, he says simply, "Winter is pressing hard upon our door. The cold and rain is but precursor for far less gentle weather, I think. And your home is far away. As you said, you have tarried here long. You are ready for home?"
"Aye, indeed, ready for home," she sighs. She makes no mention of the dragons and demon she has seen here. "Yon sea lies between here any our home. Better to face that sea before the storms become worse." She clamps her teeth tightly, hoping that the memory of a week of sea-sickness does not show on her face.
Olwe looks over his shoulder, out the window, where below the sea tosses and turns like a restless, willful child in a fevered dream. The winds pick up outside and howl, pelting the thick glass with small hail. He looks back over at Aztryd. "It tests the skill of the sailors, this time of the season," he says softly. "I hear in your voice, the longing for home and kin, but I wonder if the journey is one wise to take with a small one."
Aztryd 's stomach sinks, hearing those words, from one of a sailing people. She takes another steadying breath. "I would not willingly sail in any weather, and even less in winter storm. If this were a road I could walk, I would do so. But …" She waves a hand helplessly, in the direction of the window, and the unseen leagues of sea beyond.
She frowns suddenly, as a new thought strikes her. "These storms, will they be a danger to your sailors? It would not be right to put them at risk for the sake of longing for home."
"Risk or no, Nole and I must soon leave our home shores, ere greater enemies seek us here and pick up off as ants upon their own home hill. The weather shall not improve for some time, as we have but entered Winter's domain," he says, and he turns back to the window, raising a hand to press it lightly against the cold glass., his warm fingers leaving a moist impression as he pulls his hand away. His eyes drop from the angry skies down to the seas, and as a flash of lightning illumines the docks, his sharp eyes pick out the outline of the youngest of the mighty great swans which pull their ships to these shores ages past. He watches the swan bob gracefully upon the troubled waters, and then says, without turning. "A journey by sea may take many moons, in this weather." He then turns back to Aztryd, but if you are brave, little mother, that trek may be reduced to hours."
Aztryd looses the color in her face, at the mention of "greater enemies". Eyes wide, she asks cautiously, "How might it be reduced?"
The wind howled and then dropped into a still silence. Olwe's gaze softens as he sees Aztryd's pallid expression. "There are other ways to cross the sea than by ship. One may fly, for example, either by one's own volition, if one has the means, or by riding astride a creature that flies," he answers. Then, watching her face carefully, he adds," Like astride a giant swan."
Aztryd stares out the window. Lightning still, at intervals, illuminates the harbor below them. She remembers Lady Elwing turning herself into a bird and soaring into the sky. That much of the King's words she has seen for herself. She turns back to face him. "'Astride'? Such as one would ride a horse?"
Olwe gestures toward the harbor, and where the giant swan sat, bobbing upon the tumultous waves. "Just so, " he answers. "It was Alqua and her brothers and sisters who brought our ships safely to the shore of the Swanhaven. She would bring you and your babe to the Blue Mountains. I would ask my neice to accompany you, little mother, to give you courage and companionship, for this is no small thing for one bought to love of the earth as you to contemplate, I think me." He looks back out the window at the harbor. "But it would mean you would be home ere a day passes, and you would not have to again board a ship."
Aztryd's stomach feels as cold as the air leaking around the edges of the window. Yet her other choices -- to remain here for the months of stormy winter, or to take ship in those same storms -- hold no attraction at all. Forcing a smile, she says, "At least it would be over in a day. Since leaving my husband's home, I have already ridden on a horse and a ship, and lodged high in a tower of an Elf King who lives on an island. Would not riding home on a swan round out the story nicely?"
How brave she is, Olwe thinks, and he rewards her bravado with a soft laugh. "It would, indeed, and be such a tale not soon forgotten those who witness it," he answers. Few though we are, he thinks. "It would be a sight to see you arrive at your home, I grant."
Aztryd smiles in spite of herself, imagining the reaction of her own family and childhood friends. "This truly could be done? One of those swans could carry us? Could it find its way, across the trackless sea?"
Olwe nods and goes down on one knee so that his gaze is level with hers. "I have ridden her myself, little mother, and the tamest trail pony is not half so gentle a ride. You will find it to be the same." He reaches out and gently takes a small hand in his larger one. "I give you the word of a king: you would ride in greater safety and comfort and be home all the sooner. On the morrow, I can see how my trappings and saddle may be adjusted for one of your size, if in the morn you tell me this is your wish. Sleep upon it, Aztryd, but sleep not overlong upon it. The darkness of winter is coming fast upon us. "Thus warning her, he gently drops her hand and rises to his feet.
Aztryd freezes, stunned, as the king drops to his knee. "You are most gracious," she stammers, color flooding back into her face. "This is a most generous offer."
He looks at her with a kindly expression. "I, too, once had a small child. I would have scaled any mountain, crossed any sea, and take any conveyance that would have brought her, and I to safety. We are safe in Alqualonde, for now. "His voice grows a little distant. "Lord Ulmo protects us, but even with his protection, we will not remain safe. It is no place for a child. It is no place for a mother." His face grows grim. "Not now. Perhaps not for a long time to come." He turns his face back to the window. "Tell me on the morrow your decision, Aztryd. Whatever you choose, we shall try to see you safely home as best as we may."
Aztryd bows again, suddenly remembering the blankets she has been holding. "On the morrow," she replies, formally. She backs a few steps away from the King, then continues her journey down the corridor. Under her breath, she whispers, "Nizl, dearest, we will be going home at last!"
> Next