set loose and flowing about her shoulders. She also
wore a circlet on her brow, but it was of gold. Her cloak was of a
warm, darker green, and she wore a brooch fashioned in the image of
golden leaves, a gift from the King. She appeared as a morning in
the green of spring, bringing to mind the freshness of new growth
and the return of the sun, as she sat between her cousin and the
King’s son, Wellyn, who was recently returned from a foray in the
lands to the east. He sat at the right hand of his father. Many
remarked on Nelwyn’s beauty; it seemed that she glowed with golden
light.
Gaelen, by contrast, appeared more as a brooding
storm cloud.
She was dressed more for traveling than for
celebrating, in plain, soft leather of very dark grey-brown, booted
and cloaked. As ever, she wore little ornament. Her chestnut hair
was cropped and wild, as though windblown. It was always so, no
matter how she tried to tame it.
Her one concession to the occasion was a brooch that
now fastened her dark red cloak at her shoulder. It was of silver,
shaped as a running horse, with an eye of adamant. Ri-Aruin had
given her this token, and she wore it to please him. She wore no
other ornament, as weapons were not permitted at the King’s table,
but as he gazed at her, Rogond felt that she needed none. The
brilliance and depth of Gaelen’s hazel-green eyes would have
overshadowed all the songs and beautiful words of the Èolar and all
the bright gems and precious metals of the Rûmhar, in his
opinion.
Rogond did not yet fully understand this wild
Elfling—so childlike in some ways, and so sophisticated and worldly
in others. Gaelen was wise, yet foolish, with a heart both loving
and ferocious. He knew that a part of his heart was lost to her
from the first time she sang to him in his need, that he would
never be able to tell her so, and that she would never be his. That
piece of his heart was gone nevertheless. He would settle for being
her guardian and her friend when needed, for as long as she would
have him, and this was reflected in his face. He could not stop
gazing at her.
Several of the Elves, including Ri-Aruin, took notice
of Rogond’s attention to Gaelen, and they were troubled by it.
Galador perceived their reaction, and grabbed Rogond’s arm to gain
his attention, speaking in a hissing whisper:
"Rogond! Do not gaze at her thus. Some of these folk
may be her kin, and they are not looking on you with favor just
now."
Rogond dropped his eyes, but then his gaze was drawn
to Ri- Aruin, who sat tall and proud, in robes jeweled and
embroidered, looking down at him with a rather stern expression.
Even darker was the expression upon the young face of Wellyn, the
King’s son and heir. Rogond bowed his head in respect, as he did
not wish to offend his hosts, and he looked no more upon
Gaelen.
She, in fact, would have preferred his quiet company
to the feasting and merrymaking. The music, no matter how pleasing,
did not comfort her, and she did not sing in spite of the entreaty
of many, including the King. The table of the house of Talrodin and
Halrodin held two empty places, plates that were unfilled, goblets
that held no wine. Nelwyn also took note of this with sadness, and
it was as though a cloud had passed over her face and dimmed her
light as a grey rain in the fullness of spring.
Deep under the Great Mountains, the creature Gorgon
stirred and fretted, locked in a dark dream. He did not often truly
sleep, as his dreams were seldom comforting, but an inexplicable
weariness had come over him, and now the price would have to be
paid. The dream had begun pleasantly enough, with visions of the
Elf, Gelmyr, crying out in pain and horror as he died. But as
Gorgon stood before the now-lifeless body, Gelmyr lifted his head,
and life appeared in his dead eyes once again. He shook his head
slowly, an expression of pitying amusement on his battered face.
Gorgon could neither move, nor speak.
"The circle is tightening around you,
wore a circlet on her brow, but it was of gold. Her cloak was of a
warm, darker green, and she wore a brooch fashioned in the image of
golden leaves, a gift from the King. She appeared as a morning in
the green of spring, bringing to mind the freshness of new growth
and the return of the sun, as she sat between her cousin and the
King’s son, Wellyn, who was recently returned from a foray in the
lands to the east. He sat at the right hand of his father. Many
remarked on Nelwyn’s beauty; it seemed that she glowed with golden
light.
Gaelen, by contrast, appeared more as a brooding
storm cloud.
She was dressed more for traveling than for
celebrating, in plain, soft leather of very dark grey-brown, booted
and cloaked. As ever, she wore little ornament. Her chestnut hair
was cropped and wild, as though windblown. It was always so, no
matter how she tried to tame it.
Her one concession to the occasion was a brooch that
now fastened her dark red cloak at her shoulder. It was of silver,
shaped as a running horse, with an eye of adamant. Ri-Aruin had
given her this token, and she wore it to please him. She wore no
other ornament, as weapons were not permitted at the King’s table,
but as he gazed at her, Rogond felt that she needed none. The
brilliance and depth of Gaelen’s hazel-green eyes would have
overshadowed all the songs and beautiful words of the Èolar and all
the bright gems and precious metals of the Rûmhar, in his
opinion.
Rogond did not yet fully understand this wild
Elfling—so childlike in some ways, and so sophisticated and worldly
in others. Gaelen was wise, yet foolish, with a heart both loving
and ferocious. He knew that a part of his heart was lost to her
from the first time she sang to him in his need, that he would
never be able to tell her so, and that she would never be his. That
piece of his heart was gone nevertheless. He would settle for being
her guardian and her friend when needed, for as long as she would
have him, and this was reflected in his face. He could not stop
gazing at her.
Several of the Elves, including Ri-Aruin, took notice
of Rogond’s attention to Gaelen, and they were troubled by it.
Galador perceived their reaction, and grabbed Rogond’s arm to gain
his attention, speaking in a hissing whisper:
"Rogond! Do not gaze at her thus. Some of these folk
may be her kin, and they are not looking on you with favor just
now."
Rogond dropped his eyes, but then his gaze was drawn
to Ri- Aruin, who sat tall and proud, in robes jeweled and
embroidered, looking down at him with a rather stern expression.
Even darker was the expression upon the young face of Wellyn, the
King’s son and heir. Rogond bowed his head in respect, as he did
not wish to offend his hosts, and he looked no more upon
Gaelen.
She, in fact, would have preferred his quiet company
to the feasting and merrymaking. The music, no matter how pleasing,
did not comfort her, and she did not sing in spite of the entreaty
of many, including the King. The table of the house of Talrodin and
Halrodin held two empty places, plates that were unfilled, goblets
that held no wine. Nelwyn also took note of this with sadness, and
it was as though a cloud had passed over her face and dimmed her
light as a grey rain in the fullness of spring.
Deep under the Great Mountains, the creature Gorgon
stirred and fretted, locked in a dark dream. He did not often truly
sleep, as his dreams were seldom comforting, but an inexplicable
weariness had come over him, and now the price would have to be
paid. The dream had begun pleasantly enough, with visions of the
Elf, Gelmyr, crying out in pain and horror as he died. But as
Gorgon stood before the now-lifeless body, Gelmyr lifted his head,
and life appeared in his dead eyes once again. He shook his head
slowly, an expression of pitying amusement on his battered face.
Gorgon could neither move, nor speak.
"The circle is tightening around you,
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