[ the knight and the wall ]

[arcanepower]

[voice]

Some time ago, someone asked me to share one of my favorite stories. This was an epic poem written in a very dated form of Thalassian. I have translated it, but some of the more poetic nuances have been lost, as is the case with languages. [There's an awkward pause, and then he continues in a tone that sounds slightly humbled:] Since so many of you shared stories with me before... I thought it might... be appropriate.

[He clears his throat, then begins to recite.]

The trees whisper of a time
when Lordaeron was still young,
the elves still fortifying their walls;
when moss still grew on uncarved stones,
and the rivers ran fresh and clear.

A knight was charged with guarding the Well,
the source of our life and our prosperity.
Such a task was a great honor,
but he was unseasoned in battle and lonely,
so he made the walls.

He placed each brick himself,
under no orders but his own.
His work looked insignificant
compared to the sight of the Well,
but the well was sparkling and clear.

The knight began to notice the walls
growing stronger without his hand.
No one volunteered their knowledge,
so he left his post one night and hid,
to see who fortified the walls.

To the knight's great surprise,
he spied a woman with a dress like fog;
she appeared at the side of the Well
to pray, and then to strengthen the wall,
and the sky was bright and clear.

The knight was moved by her kindness
and desired to speak with her,
but she heard him and turned to flee.
He was quicker, and snatched her wrist,
and her voice echoed in the walls.

'Who are you,' she demanded,
'that you hold me so!'
'My lady,' said he, 'I am but a knight
who keeps the Well and builds the walls,
and I see your charity clearly.'

He released her wrist then,
and set another brick into the wall;
the woman knelt beside him, lending her magic
as he lent his raw strength,
and together, they built a great wall.

Though she was a priestess and he,
a knight, they made many walls.
A great palace was constructed,
walls of light housing a greater light,
and the rivers ran fresh and clear.

It was not their birth that dictated
what greatness they could bring,
for it takes two to make a wall.
They built their tomb together
and rest eternal with hands clasped,
where the rivers run fresh and clear.

Comments

[inafadingcrown]

I do. In my time I have known many who live on only in lore and I have watched their stories take shape over the ages. It is a curious thing.

But I do believe I promised a tale of my own.

[arcanepower]

[... He wants this story so bad but--]

... If you don't have one prepared, I won't push you.

[inafadingcrown]

Oh, I believe I remember enough.

[She pauses for a few moments, as much preparing her voice as running through the words, and then she begins. It's not just recitation, but a sort of melodic chanting, almost singing.]

He chanted a song of wizardry,
Of piercing, opening, of treachery,
Revealing, uncovering, betraying.
Then sudden Felagund there swaying
Sang in answer a song of staying,
Resisting, battling against power,
Of secrets kept, strength like a tower,
And trust unbroken, freedom, escape;
Of changing and of shifting shape
Of snares eluded, broken traps,
The prison opening, the chain that snaps.

Backwards and forwards swayed their song.
Reeling and foundering, as ever more strong
The chanting swelled, Felagund fought,
And all the magic and might he brought
Of Elvenesse into his words.
Softly in the gloom they heard the birds
Singing afar in Nargothrond,
The sighing of the Sea beyond,
Beyond the western world, on sand,
On sand of pearls in Elvenland.

Then the gloom gathered; darkness growing
In Valinor, the red blood flowing
Beside the Sea, where the Noldor slew
The Foamriders, and stealing drew
Their white ships with their white sails
From lamplit havens. The wind wails,
The wolf howls. The ravens flee.
The ice mutters in the mouths of the Sea.
The captives sad in Angband mourn.
Thunder rumbles, the fires burn —-

And Finrod fell before the throne.

[It's no real surprise she has that one memorized. It's near and dear to her heart.]

[arcanepower]

[Belthazar is silent for a long time after she finishes. Many of the words are alien to him, the locations especially; it is difficult for him to place it all in context. Who is good, and who is bad? Is the darkness from the fighting, or something else?]

... What did Finrod's death accomplish?

[inafadingcrown]

Of his death, the song does not tell; it is a small piece of a story too long to relay here in full.

He did not die before the throne of Morgoth, but was taken captive along with the rest of his party- the leader of which was the man Beren, to whose father Finrod had sworn an oath of friendship and aid. They were taken to the dungeons of Angband- a place I shutter to speak of still. It was a great fortress, commanded by Morgoth, the greatest evil my world has seen.

A wolf was sent to devour the captives, one by one, in the hopes that they would speak their secrets. Finally, it came for Beren- Finrod slew it with his bare hands, it is said, but was wounded mortally in the effort.

Beren went on to become a great hero of both elves and men, sung of in tales of his own. I suppose one might say that Finrod's death played a part in that. Regardless, valiance and bravery in the face of Darkness is worthy of praise and song, even if it comes to naught.

[arcanepower]

[A small noise of thought.]

Do people that selfless truly exist?

[inafadingcrown]

I have no doubt of it; Finrod was my eldest brother.

[arcanepower]

[He is quiet for a moment, except for the soft sound of fingertips brushing across paper.]

You must be proud of him.

[inafadingcrown]

Very much so. [Her voice is soft, but otherwise there is very little change in it. The wound is an old one and she can speak of it without risk of it reopening.]

[arcanepower]

You don't blame the person he died for?

[inafadingcrown]

No. My brother was of an age to make his own choices. Indeed, I believe he knew that he would die young; he told me as much once.

[arcanepower]

Family shouldn't leave family behind. I would hate him.

[inafadingcrown]

Something our family has rarely taken to heart, I fear. And I could not hate him if I tried.

[arcanepower]

But he left you.

[inafadingcrown]

Did he? Or did I leave him when I remained in Doriath after he chose to depart? I was a woman full grown; I could not and did not expect him to remain forever at my side.

[arcanepower]

[Belthazar gives no immediate response, though there is a telling, breathy huff of air.]

And now you're alone.

[inafadingcrown]

No, not alone. I have a husband, a daughter, grandchildren. I have seen much loss but also much joy.

[arcanepower]

Not everyone is so fortunate.

[inafadingcrown]

I am well aware.