The guards outside Gil-galad's tent became alert as the sound of raised voices approached. They each rested their hands of their sword-hilts as Gil-galad emerged from the tent. "My King..." one of them began, but was brushed aside. Thelian had heard Dorlas' voice and that had precipitated his swift departure from Gil-galad's presence.
He strode toward the voices,then froze as he heard Arthain's voice rise in anger. Beneath the shadows he waited, listening. His heart went out to the yound squire for he knew the depth of loyalty he felt for Arthain. He also found himself concerned now for the man who had wronged his kinsman. While he had erred greatly, Thelian knew that Arthain loved Melost and now he was in danger of losing even more.
He turned and nearly collided with his lord. His look of pity mingled with determination met that of Gil-galad, but even as he made to speak, Gil-galad fore-stalled him. "I will speak to Elendil. Go now, return and lead the company of Melost. He has trained you well, kinsman. Do not let his memory fade." Thelian's eyes grew wide in surprise at the field promotion, then he bowed his head as Gil-galad clasped his shoulder for a moment. Then he was gone.
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"Woman, I weary of your words. You are correct, there is no one coming for me, neither lover nor enemy." He chuckled grimly, "Especially not lover..." While he had listened to these strange people bantering back and forth, shards of the maosaic had drifted into place. The woman's dark beauty and caustic manner reminded him of...someone...someone he knew well, but who he could put neither name nor face to.
One name had returned, along with the memory. Arthain. Soldier, brother, friend, betrayer. He wanted to kill him and he wanted to ride beside him. The painful crowding-in of memories angered him him further. He threw wide his arms and smiled at her. "Slay me then! Let there be one less creature in Arda different than yourself, daughter of a prideful race! You who's lives are but the blink of an eye to us, please, take mine that seen more than a thousand years, by all means!"
Jaheira looked at Melost, aghast. Only rarely had anyone dared to call her bluff and never had they won. She walked slowly over to the Elf and placed the tip of her dagger at his throat, pressed, then drew the tip down, loosing a crimson ribbon to trickle down his chest. His eyes never left hers as she pressed harder, gauging his courage and her own.
[ September 01, 2003: Message edited by: Cuthalion ]
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