Shadow of the West

[Imladris]

Arshalous stood overlooking the building of the new temple. Her arms were folded, the slim golden bracelets glittering in the sun. She spent most of her days here now...if her money was being spent on a temple she did not agree with then she could at least over see it and make sure that it was beautiful. It was much more than Korak would do, she thought with distaste, a sneer flickering across her face. The man had only done it for political purposes, of that she was sure.

She moodily thought of the "romance" between the princess and her cousin. How could the king arrange for his daughter to marry that excuse for a man was far beyond her. And she thought it disgusting how Korak could pretend to love her...it was despicable that a noble should lie like that...she frowned and spat the dust between her sandled feet.

She saw the Princess Gjeelea pause in front of the Temple of the Earth-Goddess. Arshalous wondered again what the royal siblings were going to decide about the Emissary. She bit her lip, wondering what their misgivings were...she herself had seen nothing but good character from the Emissary.

The lack of communication from Alanzia was odd, but she did not find it as disturbing as others. If there was trouble between the two nations it was better this way instead of firey words...she herself wished that it was that way for herself and Korak. Of course, maybe the silence of Alanzia was caused by something dire...but why conjecture the worst when there was no reason to believe that something horrid had happened?

She shifted uneasily on her feet, the rumours of demons and ghosts and giant, ravaging men that roamed the country side gnawed at her...she could not pass it off as mere superstition...

She smiled softly to herself. The creatures that had fallen into the mists of the forgotten had arisen...and was that not a thrilling thought?

[Nurumaiel]

The building site for the new temple was not empty that day. Lord Korak arrived upon his horse, and swept a glance over it all. The temple he had strove for was coming into being at last. He could see the money he relinquished building up before his eyes in the form of a majestic building. Yet... if he had been in charge of the building, and not just the funding, he would have made it more majestic than it was. Especially that one spot that he could see from the corner of his eye.

It was then he noticed the Lady Arshalous. His lips turned downwards in a deep frown, and for a moment he considered returning to his home. But, no! He recalled swiftly that when the two of them stood upon this ground, he stood as the victor. The Lady Arshalous, who so opposed the idea of the new temple, was also funding it. She was working alongside him, working for something she did not want. He held the upper hand here. And he thought in passing that the one spot did not look so very bad after all, but it was simply the Lady Arshalous' presence by it, fouling it and making it look dark and dreary.

Lord Korak dismounted and moved towards his Lady Cousin, leading his horse along by the reins. Perhaps it did not occur to him that horses were disapproved of by the King, or perhaps he was merely being defiant. Morashk, lurking in the shadows, wondered this. Of course Korak knew that the King disapproved, but perhaps he did not know that he really did disapprove, and it was not merely a show. Lord Korak was always putting on shows himself. Disloyalty? Morashk laughed at the thought. He would die for his master, but he would not refrain from thinking of him as he would.

"My Lady Cousin," said Korak, bowing slightly. He wondered what would happen if he kissed her hand. She would probably strike him. That would never do in public, when he could not strike back. For the Lord Korak would have no qualms about striking back... if there were not many eyes watching.

He turned then, and looked at on-going temple with approving eyes. "It is a magnificent prospect we see before us," he said. "And it could not have been if you had not been so gracious as to give some of your wealth for it. Perhaps it is odd that we are working together, or perhaps it is merely a usual occurrence in fate. Nevertheless, we are working together, and achieving a temple to the sky god. You are achieving a temple to the sky god, dear cousin."

[Novnarwen]

Tarkan

Storing his last belongings in piles on the floor, he let his gaze wander around in the empty room. To Tarkan’s satisfaction, everything had been systematized; he was ready to go. Calling for Pelin with a merry voice, the Priest waited for the young man to join him. It had been about less than a month since he had spoken with the King and received news of the new Temple that was going to be built; a new Temple in the honour of Rae, the Sky God. Already, the constructors and the workers had managed to build the apartments that followed with the Temple. Although it was not far from here, where his current apartment was situated, he thought it only appropriate to move; he was a servant of the Temple of Rae, and should thus live where he could best be at service of his God, Rae. Living here, amongst the petty men and women who adored the sky Goddess, was just plainly wrong.

After a few moments, Tarkan could hear the light steps of his fellow brother in belief. Pelin popped his head inside the door and looked curiously around. The priest eyed him immediately, and gave him an approving sign to enter.

"I see you’re ready," Pelin said, stepping into the Hall-way. Slowly, he went into the small living room, where all of Tarkan's belongings were spread, or stored, out on the floor. With a greatly surprised look, he looked questioningly at the Priest. Tarkan only nodded as to confirm that everything was indeed his. Then, the Priest turned away and looked out of the window, as if ignoring the newly arrived man. Silently, he stood watching the Temple of Rhais, which rose up in font of him. He looked at it with disgust and turned his head slightly to see the new building that was being built in honour of the Sky God. Smiling to himself, he imagined the new building overshadowing the old Temple as is it rose majestically from the ground. Finally, he could be a true servant of the Sky God and he would finally be a, or rather ‘the’, High Priest. Deep in thought, he did not notice that Pelin was moving towards a pile of books that lay on the floor. Seeming rather curious, Pelin grabbed a little brown book and read its title. “Kings of our Time,” he read aloud. “Religious literature?” he asked Tarkan and opened it, reading the first lines.

“Put that down,” Tarkan said instantly, turning brusquely, seeing and recognizing the book that Pelin had found.

“But this is rather interesting, Father,” Pelin said, his full attention turned towards the book. “It says here in the Prologue that the book is filled with historic facts, which still remains to be revealed concerning the Kings of Pasthia! And look, here is a piece of parchment!” he said, while unfolding it hurriedly, his lips moving as he read.

Greatly angered by hearing Pelin read aloud from a book and the piece of parchment he had never showed anyone, he rushed over and grabbed the book from Pelin’s grasp. He looked at Pelin with an almost threatening look, making the man almost jump into the air. Taking the book, Tarkan closed it shut with a snap, put the letter inside and hid both the book and the letter quickly away under his mantle. A horrified look appeared in the priest’s face, but it was most likely outdone by the expression that Pelin now wore. As if frightened by the Priest’s sudden anger, he took a few steps backwards, growing paler and paler. Thoughtfully, Tarkan turned away again, fearing to see the man in the eyes again. He had to pretend as nothing. He realised that he should not have been so rash. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. The task that he now faced was to cover it up with some silly story, or just forget about it. He chose the latter.

“Well, are you ready?” With a smile so false that it almost seemed real, he turned on his heal and passed Pelin on the way out. Entering the Hall-way, he looked over his shoulder to see if the young man was following. To his relief, Tarkan could see Pelin's hesitance and reluctance, turning into willingness. Shortly after, he could hear his footsteps behind him. “Are you expecting a weary old man to carry all his belongings himself?” Tarkan said suddenly, when noticing that Pelin wasn’t carrying anything from the living room.

“Please Father…” Pelin said filled with regret, turning in a hurry.

“Take as much as you can carry and meet me in the new apartments!”

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The morning sun was already above the horizon when Faroz returned to his rooms. He crept through the archway neatly timing his entrance to coincide with the slight breeze that was sending ripples through the curtain that covered it so that none could see. He had ordered his door removed and replaced with a simple curtain some weeks ago, as he had found getting past the guards night after night increasingly difficult. Now, with no door to open, it was relatively easy.

As after most nights that he spent with Ashnaz he felt exhausted but somehow exhilarated as well. This night, they had spent almost three hours in silence, clutching each other’s hands and reaching outward with their minds, far into the West, in search of the Lord Annatar. His friend had assured him that the power of their Rings would allow them to commune with his lord at any distance, and that it was only a matter of time until he, Faroz, would learn how. Faroz was at first sceptical, but Ashnaz had shown him how the Ring allowed the two of them to speak without uttering any words, and Faroz had believed. How greatly he had come to anticipate those nightly conferences with his friend, as they sat together not saying a word aloud, lost in each other’s thoughts. Faroz had learned much of Ashnaz and of the Lord Annatar, and he desired – almost needed – to know more. So great a lord as Annatar was, he had much that he could teach Faroz. At the same time, the King could tell that Annatar desired much of him. There was much in Pashtia that those in the west did not know, and Annatar was ever thirsty for more knowledge. As yet, Faroz had not touched the mind of his brother king, so far away, but he had begun to glimpse a figure in his nightly wanderings with Ashnaz: distant and light, like the star of the evening just breaking the horizon in the early dusk.

The latter part of the night had been less than satisfactory. As they had been doing every night for a week now, Ashnaz and Faroz had stolen into the villa of Korak and searched where they could for the letter. Faroz had only seen it once, years ago, but he was sure that he would recognise it immediately were he to see it again. It had been much more difficult than he had thought, finding that letter. In the first flush of excitement in realising the power of the Ring he had foolishly attempted to recover the letter on his own, without the aid of Ashnaz. But it had all almost ended in ruin when he had inadvertently stumbled into the chambers of the old woman, Korak’s mother, Hababa. She had been awake and had seen her door open and then close of its own accord. She had sent out an immediate alarm and Faroz had been able to escape through a window barely in time, for the rush of servants and guards was such that no Ring could have kept him from discovery for very long. It was after this incident that he had opened his heart to Ashnaz and requested his friend’s help. Of course he had asked Faroz what was in the letter and the King had told him. When he had finished, Ashnaz only said, “This is indeed a grave and delicate matter, my friend, and I am honoured that you have confided in me. Needless to say, I will breathe never a word of this to anyone.”

What had at first seemed such an easy task had turned out to be much more difficult, for Korak’s villa was large and he had many servants, but Faroz was sure that in time he and Ashnaz would find what they were looking for…

[Amanaduial the archer]

I ask for your blessing, Goddess, and for strength to endure what will come ahead...what is happening in your land, my lady? The creatures, these leafy 'mothers'...they must be in your care, Rhais: what do they mean? What do all these changes mean?

Zamara's prayers had a slightly desperate, urgent note in them as she directed her thoughts up at the statue of the goddess, much as she tried to conceal it. But try as she might, the tension all around her was getting to her: the Priestess was, as always elegant and serene, but those who paid close attention and looked more closely might note that she looked more pinched and tired than usual, her serenity disturbed. In the month that had passed since the Emissary had first arrived, many things had happened, many changes had come about, and for the first time in years, Zamara felt that she couldn't understand what was happening beneath the surface. And there were indeed things beneath the surface: Zamara called to mind her meeting with the Queen nearly a month ago, a meeting that still troubled her.

"...but I do not suppose that will be necessary, Your majesty!"

Zamara's tone was half-joking as she smiled almost conspiratorially at the Queen where she reclined amid a pile of cushions. Bekah smiled with her, the expression lighting her face as she leant forward towards Zamara, moving her arm towards the Priestess as if she intended to touch the other woman's arm. But as she did so, the pillow beneath her arm slipped, and it fell awkwardly off, twisting at an unnatural angle. The Queen gave a sharp, muted cry of pain as she seized her arm with the other; Zamara, out of concern, darted forward quickly, staying the Queen's hand as it fell. As she did so, she felt something seem to snap beneath her dark fingers, light though her touch was, and she recoiled as if Bekah's arm was white hot to touch, her dark eyes widening. "Queen Bekah, what has...I-"

"It was not you, High Priestess," Bekah replied quickly, cutting the other off, her voice sharp with pain. From behind, one of Bekah's handmaidens made to come forward, panicked at her mistress's pain, scurrying to Bekah's side.

Zamara watched the Queen, thoughtfulness and worry creeping into her expression alongside the initial shock. "Your majesty, what has happened to your arm?"

Bekah's expression was troubled but she replied instantaneously, almost too quickly. "A fall, High Priestess. Just a fall."

"High Priestess?" The repeat of the words from her thoughts startled Zamara although the voice that spoke them was soft, and her eyes opened quickly as she was called back from the palace and Bekah, to the cold stone floor beneath her knees, her beautiful temple to Rhais...and, more surprisingly, Princess Gjeelea. So shocked was Zamara that she finished her prayer rather more hastily than usual, knowing she would return later. She needed to speak to her goddess, to ask more about these strange matters, both political, natural and, worryingly, religious.

Bowing in the traditional way, Zamara turned around to face the Princess as nodded her head in respect to the young woman. The princess had visited more often recently than before, but had rarely come directly to Zamara. "Princess Gjeelea, good morning to you," she said, smiling politely and with some warmth at the princess. She had a feeling that Gjeelea had come to speak to her, bearing in mind the way in which she had approached her, but thought it not polite to ask directly if it was to speak to her that the princess had come. "Have you come to worship?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

“Well…yes…but…” Gjeelea’s voice trailed off as she looked to the statue of Rhais behind Zamara. Turning to meet the High Priestess’ gaze Gjeelea could see that the woman had asked a question she already knew the answer to. “I had hoped to worship, of course, but I also wished to know your opinion on certain matters that have been troubling me lately.”

“My opinion?” Zamara prompted in lofty voice. Gjeelea paused, unsure of how to continue in the conversation. Surely there were things that the High Priestess need not know, musings of the princess’ mind that did not need to be revealed yet. Still, Gjeelea so desperately wished to know how others felt about the Emissary and the new temple – she wanted to know how to tread in the future with such delicate issues.

“Of course, High Priestess,” the princess let an airy, barely-there smile lift the corners of her lips. “I value your opinion, and I know that you of all people could help me see the true path – you know many things,” Gjeelea paused and peeked once more past Zamara to the lovely statue of Rhais behind her. “I trust you.”

Zamara nodded at the exaggeration that Gjeelea had given, and gestured toward a white stone bench across the wide room. Leaves and flowers had been carved into the legs of the bench while stone vines adorned with little berries lined the seat. Zamara took a seat, and Gjeelea sat next to her. Gjeelea was not afraid to seem meek and child-like in front of the High Priestess. The princess decided that perhaps the best way to seek the opinion of Zamara would be to act younger than she really was – act as if she were in search of spiritual guidance, almost. Gjeelea knew that the face she wore with Siamak or Korak or Bekah did not have to be the same face she wore with Zamara.

“What troubles you, princess?” Zamara inquired.

“Oh, many things, High Priestess,” Gjeelea began with a heaving sigh, trying to portray the feeling of a weighty decision. She shook her head slightly, like a mother upset with her children. “The choice of whether to accept or to deny the Emissary’s offer of an alliance weighs heavy on my heart and mind. My worst fear is that Siamak and I will make the wrong decision. I wished to gain the aid of Rhais; I came more often to the temple, but I fear also that I have been abandoned. I hope now to gain your opinion of the Emissary…” Gjeelea paused, and watched as Zamara nodded to herself and waited for a continuation. “Also…it worries me that the King must choose between Siamak and myself. I worry that it will create a rift between us!” The princess tried hard not to choke on the words, for she knew that a rift had long existed between her and her brother.

“I see,” Zamara said quietly. She looked up, staring right into Gjeelea’s eyes with her own strangely blue tinted eyes, and the princess turned quickly away for the look penetrated too deeply for her taste. “Does aught else bother you, princess?”

“Well…there is something else,” Gjeelea murmured softly. She met Zamara’s gaze quickly, ready to tell a lie. “I hope that you will not reveal what I tell you in confidence?”

“No, of course not,” came the reply, and Gjeelea tried to read the level of honesty in Zamara’s voice.

“I have been pondering lately the role of women in our society – this issue that I felt closest to Rhais. It is unfair that we are not bound by law to marry or to accept an arranged marriage and yet there is society between equality and us women. I am not being forced to marry Lord Korak…I am allowed to refuse,” – and many think that I should, Gjeelea thought – “Yet I know that my chances of becoming queen are slim if I do not marry someone. I know that refusing Korak would mean shame and distrust from his powerful family forever. Society creates unwritten rules where the kings do not wish to.”

A silent pause came between the two women.

“Can you help me – comfort me – High Priestess?” Gjeelea tried to appear as helpless as possible – as child-like as she could.

[Novnarwen]

Pelin

Outisde, it was a terrible day; it was almost depressing. The sky was covered with thick dark clouds, and even the most ignorant person would be able to guess that rain was coming. Looking out of the window, he watched the Priest turn to the left, following the narrow street which eventually would lead to the newly built apartments, which were closely situated by the Temple that was being built.

Had Pelin known that it would end up like this, that he was to carry Tarkan’s things, all of them, he would never have joined Tarkan when he had called just half an hour earlier. Yet, he didn’t give this too much thought. What lingered in his mind was the book he had found. He had never seen this book or the letter which had lain within before, even though he had searched through the priest’s bookshelf numerous of times looking for religious literature, which could be helpful when doing his religious studies. He frowned in annoyance. In appearance, the old piece of parchment had reminded him an awful lot of a will. The contents could of course be somewhat like a will, but what did this have to do with Tarkan? Who left their will in a book named ‘Kings of our Time’ which claimed to possess secrets about the Royal Bloodline none knew of. The thing that bothered him the most was the feeling of secrecy. Surly, the priest hadn’t gone all of a sudden angry for nothing. It meant something; both the letter and the book were probably significant in their meaning. Rising an eyebrow, being surprised by how many conclusions and ideas that were taking form inside of his head, he grew almost wild thinking of how he would be torn by his curiosity of not being able to find out exactly what all of this was about. Did Tarkan really hide something? If so, what was it?

He was caught off guard by a strange shadow that rose in front of him, silently moving along the floor. He turned around quickly, his body shaking. He didn’t know why this had come over him, but the sensation of being witness to something, something that could be dangerous, made him almost shaking uncontrollably; he was relieved to see one of the King’s well known servants.

“Have I come in an inappropriate time?” the servant asked politely, giving Pelin a faint smile.

Pelin shook his head quickly, swallowing. “I was just packing the last of the Priest’s things. He.. I mean both of us, are going to move into the new apartments which follows with the new Temple.

“I see,” the servant replied silently. “So, the Priest is gone?”

“He is indeed. I am just about to pack up things here and meet him in his new apartments. Is there anything I can do for you?” Pelin said as calmly as he could manage. With this visitor’s arrival, Pelin’s theories were confirmed. It must have something to do with the King, he thought to himself. It made sense in an odd sort of way. Tarkan and the King were half-brothers, but he could not understand how the roll of parchment, the book, Tarkan and the King could be connected and therefore he couldn’t let go of the feeling that he was only being paranoid. Was he just looking for trouble, imagining things? Surely, for what he knew, the book had always been in Tarkan’s bookshelf, he’d just been a fool to miss it.

“Will you inform the Priest that the King wishes to see him.” Pelin nodded as the servant continued, giving a few instructions before he hurriedly took his leave.

Shortly after, Pelin himself took his leave. In a miraculously short time he managed all the priest’s belongings into something which could remind of a wheelbarrow and trotted off.