Long Lost Leaves - part II

[Curufin]

Abasi caught the t'rai easily and rested them in his lap. "It is enough for now. Bandage your arm, m'had'i. You must not let it fester. You will need it later."

He was quiet for a moment, and then continued.

"You must work on that arm. You must be strong. You must not fail. I will not allow it. I have trained many m'had'i in my days and your skill is certainly high, but it is often those who are the very best who fail most quickly. And I do not wish to see you fail. You are...someone...I...I hold you in high esteem."

He stopped and stood, putting his t'rai in his belt. Had he almost confessed his feelings to her? Had he almost done that? It was inappropriate until at least the third stage of their courtship.

Perhaps his feelings would disgust her, perhaps she would see them as weakness. Either was unacceptable.

"We will play again soon."

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl stared at the ground as Abasi told her of his intent to end the game. She must seem weak indeed to him, she thought. It was one thing for a young m'had'i to be unable to keep up, having learnt no better, but for someone of Tabrîl's age, with Tabrîl's honors? It was disgrace. Yet she knew that she had faced no such problems within her own hall, and so Abasi's attitude puzzled her. Perhaps, she thought, his tribe had held its m'haid to a far higher standard than her own did, and so while her own people had not found fault with her ability, to him it was all too apparent.

It should not matter, she told herself. She had the opportunity here to learn more than she knew, to improve, and she was not too proud to take advantage of that. No, it was something else. It was Abasi himself, her dismay at the notion someone she cared for so deeply might think badly of her, think she was undeserving of her standing, incapable.

Then Abasi spoke again, and it became clearer to her. It was not her feelings alone that were affecting this. He worried for her. He did not realize that a m'had'i who had lived as long as Tabrîl had was a little different, a little steadier than the brilliant ones who had greater natural talent than she, but were quicker to fail on account of their recklessness, their easy confidence. She had seen it countless times over the years. She had been warned against it in her youth, and so she thought differently now. Yet he did not know this, and he wanted to be sure she had the strength to protect herself.

If there was any doubt in her mind over this, it was assuaged by the hesitant compliment he gave her. He should not have said it, she knew. It was not proper for them to speak of such things. Yet she was glad that he had, and she looked up at him then.

'Do not worry, m'haidati,' she said softly. 'I shall not fail.' Behind her formality there was a gentle reassurance. His actions were appreciated by her, even if they were not fully understood - and his sentiments were, too.

She stood, then, and turned away from him to examine her blood-soaked sleeve. Her first cut would probably need a few stitches, if it was as deep as it felt to her. She intended to tend to her injuries herself, in private, and so she started to walk away from him, and from Barufiniel, whose presence she had forgotten entirely.

[Varnafindë]

Barufiniel enjoyed watching the perfect skill with which the others played the dangerous game. Back and forth went the knives, in no particular pattern, but weaving an invisible web in the air between them.

She gave an involuntary gasp when Tabril missed her catch and the knife cut her arm. The others seemed to be too focused on their game to notice Baru's reaction. She had promised herself not to say a word, but she almost had to bite her lip not to interfere when they just went on without even a pause. If anything, their next throws were done with more energy.

And it happened again, and again, only with less deep cuts, and they were speaking to each other while doing it, so perhaps they were discussing whether to stop.

Baru managed to keep her mouth shut, but she drew a deep breath of release when Abasi stopped the game and arose.

[Curufin]

Abasi glanced over at Barufiniel in surprise when she gasped, realizing for the first time that she was still there. She looked...emotional and upset by what had just occurred. Did she think Tabril had lost honor?

When he next spoke, it was in perfect Quenya.

"Fear not, Noldo. There is no dishonor in an injury or death in the Game. It is a good death, as in honorable combat."

He sat crosslegged, his hands on his thighs as he stared at her intensely.

"Dishonor is only found by those who cling too tightly to life, who fear the Dark. Death is commonplace to one of my caste. We do not hide from it, nor do we fear it."

He paused, hoping her words would assuage Baru's fears of Tabril's dishonor.

"Tell us more of your stories. Tell us of your warriors and great battles. That, I think, it is proper for us to know."

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl did not stay to hear more of the stories, knowing as she did that her arm needed attention if she was to recover quickly. She left the two of them there, and walked off to find a quiet spot where she could examine her wounds, and treat them accordingly.

Two of the cuts were deep, but they were uncomplicated, and ought to heal quickly. The first did need a few stitches, but these Tabrîl did by herself. It was a minor thing. The aftereffects would not last long, and Tabrîl knew she would soon be able to play again.

When she had finished, she put on a clean tunic and set off for her regular patrol of the borders. She was not about to neglect that simply because the morning's events had proven to be a little unexpected.

She wondered what Abasi and Barufiniel were speaking of. He did not have as much patience for the others as she did, and she hoped that the Noldorin elf would not offend him. Even if she knew no better, it still was not right.

[Varnafindë]

Dishonor? Barufiniel thought. Is dishonor the greatest problem when someone might be injured or killed? Do these Elves have as strange a concept of honor as the M'nak people had? I never understood theirs ... And he speaks Quenya. I wonder who taught him?

Abasi's next words made it easier to understand at least what he was talking about, although Baru wasn't sure that she quite agreed.

"So you are saying that honor is more important than life?" she said in Quenya. "I will ponder your words ..."

Then she changed back to Sindarin. Should any of the others overhear her story, it would be easier for them to understand that language.

"At the time I told you about, Fëanor and Fingolfin were not trained warriors," she said, "that is something that came later. There were no warriors at all, since there was peace and happiness in Valinor. People might hunt, and anyone could hunt, there were no special hunters. And the sons of the King were among the King's advisors, so they had the right to suggest a course of action to him.
Fëanor wanted to go away from the Valar, whom he thought were trying to supplant him, and go to Middle-earth; while Fingolfin thought that when Finwë had led his people to Valinor, they ought to respect his leadership and stay there.
But because he wanted to go to Middle-earth, Fëanor knew that he would need to become a warrior, so he was making swords and teaching himself and his followers how to use them."

Abasi wants to hear about battles, she thought. But I need to explain to him a little about why they finally went to Middle-earth. The fight for the Silmarils wouldn't make sense otherwise.

"After some years there was a great festival," she said, "and the Valar hoped to settle the feud among the Noldor, so they told Fëanor to come. He came, but Finwë stayed at Formenos.
During the festival the Valar offered pardon to Fëanor, and Fingolfin offered him forgiveness for the threat. Fëanor accepted it very reluctantly.
But suddenly there was a great darkness. For the Trees had been left unguarded, and Melkor had come with one of his servants and destroyed them. Their light was extinguished, and they were dying. The Valar realised that this was Melkor's doing, and they tried to pursue him, but he escaped.
Yavanna then asked Fëanor if he would break open the Silmarils, which contained the light of the Trees, so that she could heal them. But Fëanor would not, and the Valar didn't force him.
Then messengers came from Formenos, and they told that Melkor had come there. He had killed Finwë and stolen the Silmarils.
Then Fëanor cursed Melkor and named him Morgoth, the Black Foe, and he persuaded most of the Noldor to rebel against the Valar and go with him to Middle-earth to fight Morgoth and take back the Silmarils. And he swore a terrible oath - swore by something that Tabril would have called Mysteries, so I will not mention it - to pursue with vengeance and hatred anyone who would withhold a Silmaril from him. And his seven sons swore the same terrible oath."

Barufiniel sighed.

"It would have been better if they had sworn to fight against Morgoth. Fingolfin tried to speak against the rebellion, but the people would leave, and Fingolfin and Finarfin thought it best to go with them. Most would have Fingolfin and not Fëanor as their King.
Fëanor wanted to sail to Middle-earth, and he asked the Teleri to lend him their ships, but they would not aid him in his rebellion. He then took the ships by force, and the Teleri fought against him, but they had no swords. Even some of Fingolfin's people joined in the fight, but not all.
So the first bloodshed was not a battle against Morgoth, but the slaying of Elf by Elf. For this Kinslaying - and the rebellion - the Valar then banished from Valinor those who would not immediately repent and go back. Some did, Finarfin among them, but most went on."

[Curufin]

Abasi blinked.

"Of course honor is worth more than life. Life is transient, brief, even for those of us whose lives continue on, such as us. It must, by definition, end, as must we. I have seen many thousands fall, and the memory of their honor will live in song after them. It is a good legacy to leave."

"Your 'kinslaying' seems a great waste of life," Abasi said after some thought. "If your Fëanor wished to challenge, he should have offered honorable combat to the leader of the Teleri. There was no reason to kill those who did not need to die. It seems...wasteful."

It seemed to Abasi that Fëanor was perfectly in his right to challenge, but that he had gone about it wrong. It only helped to reinforce his feeling that his people were right to stay. It did not sound that things had been good for the Noldor.

He looked at her for a long moment.

"The reasons for such things are not understood by the m'had. There is little I can say, as such things are beyond me and my knowledge. I thank you for your stories, although I am not sure that I should know everything that you have told me. There are certain things I think I must forget."

He paused, looking around him.

"Tabril must be on patrol. It is taking her overlong to return from treating her wounds."

[Aikanáro]

The borders were quiet, as usual, save for in the direction of the Ultai's encampment, and Tabrîl had already given up on the notion that what went on among those mortals would ever make any sense to her. She went only as close as was necessary to determine that nothing was actually wrong among them, and then continued on her way.

As she walked, her thoughts were drawn back to the events of the morning. Not to her injury, but to what had gone before. To her suspicion that Abasi felt as she did. She had told herself time and time again that she would let their courtship progress no further. Not with everything as it was, the two of them attached to this company and to this quest for reasons not their own.

And yet when it had come to it, her heart had told her to go forward with it. Tabrîl had never longed for a shirikabi, not as some of her sisters in the m'haid had, but with Abasi all that had changed. Tabrîl could not refuse him, could not return his t'rai no matter how much she might worry that the courtship between them was not quite appropriate. She was beyond that now, she cared far too much for him.

It could be, she told herself, that this quest would mean the end of her life. Or his, and if that were the case, all of her concerns for their future were as nothing. The future, she thought wryly, was not the business of a m'had'i. She did the right thing, to let it progress as she did.

Tabrîl smiled to herself, and touched again the hilt of Abasi's t'rai at her belt, its presence a constant reminder of him. Then she continued on her way, crossing back through the campsite to get to the southern edge of the land she considered 'theirs,' though of course it was nothing of the sort.

[Varnafindë]

"We think indeed that the Kinslaing was a waste of lives," Barufiniel replied, "it is not something the Noldor are proud of. The grandfather of my cousin Nimlothel was a Kinslayer. She never met him, but her mother told her that he had been happy to lay down his life in battle against one of Morgoth's servants. Perhaps he felt that he was restoring some of his honor that way."

She thought for a while.

"And perhaps a single combat could have solved it," she mused, "but we seem not to have used combat much. Fingolfin later - much later - met Morgoth in single combat. He lost, as was to be expected. But it is indeed remembered in song."


She smiled.

"Tabril is a good woman," she said. "I really appreciate her diligence in looking after our safety."

[Aikanáro]

It was not long before Tabrîl had finished her check on the southern border, and she walked back to where Abasi was still sitting with Barufiniel. She doubted either would object to her rejoining them, and so she did, sitting close to Abasi.

'What did I miss of the story?' she asked him in their own language. 'Anything of importance?'

She presumed that Barufiniel had gone on with the tale in her absence, and she glanced over at the Noldorin elf as she spoke.

[Willow Oran]

The festival was proving to be oddly restful for Haldis. She had opted not to perform. The spells she knew were not suitable for entertainment, and Truor had not taken the idea of going on as a bear and his tamer well. Haldis was glad, the skinchanging was a sacred skill. Not something to be used for the amusement of strangers. She helped behind the scenes of course, but between meals and the aftermaths of performances, she was free to do as she pleased.

Most of this afternoon and now into the fading light of the evening, Haldis had been practicing her writing by taking inventory of the supplies they still had. It was slow work. Holding the quill cramped her fingers, her lines were uneven, and the edges of the parchment were smudged with ink as were her hands. Sighing, she switched the quill back to her left hand and shook out her right.
"This isn't working," she muttered, to herself, but just loud enough for Radagast, long finushed with his act and sitting nearby, to hear should he be listening,"It feels more natural holding it in my left, but then the ink gets all over the place - Look! Up to my elbow. It'll take ages to get it off..."

No response from the wizard. Typical. She'd thought he'd be pleased that she was praticing with the quill. He'd been after her to become properly literate almost since the day they met... but it seemed he wasn't in a talking mood this evening.

Haldis' gaze wandered over to where the company's more mysterious elvish members had gathered. She was glad to see Tabrîl making friends (or at least not enemies!) with the new one. And gladder to see that Abasi appeared to be following her lead as far as social interaction went. Haldis might have gone over to join them, as - Barufiniel, she reminded herself of the new elf's name -was storytelling, but she suspected her presence might ruin the mood.

Groaning softly, she bent back down over the list and positioned the quill in her left hand, arching her arm in an attempt to keep it off the paper and, more importantly, out of the ink; and started sounding out the next item on the list, feeling like an idiot as she did so.

"Don't know what use this is... I have the list complete by memory -" she grumbled, "Way-Cakes... at least that's an easy one to - ah!" Haldis yelped as her left arm jerked involuntarily at a sudden flare of pain. The quill slid wildly across the page, scribbling out much of what she had managed to get written, "Of all the - ill timed - ! Eugh!"

[Curufin]

"Only more confusing tales of her people," he answered in his own tongue. "The more I learn of their culture the more I understand that while they may look like us, they are uwindi indeed. She would understand oursongs no better, I fear."

Abasi fell into silence, his thoughts drifting to a time his people were more than songs, to a time before Barufiniel's peoplehad brought the darkness back, and had silenced the Children. He missed those times. He missed his home, and attuned like this hewas overcome by the idea that he had outlived his purpose, a mere relic of an extinct people.

And yet there was Tabril. She gave him hope, and it had been a long time since he had that. Impulsively, before he could think and regret it, he caressed her hand with his fingers, and switched to Quenya.

"Perhaps weshould share some of our songs?"

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl looked down at his hand as it touched her, and it took all the restraint she had not to take it and hold it tightly in her own. Not now, she told herself. Not now and especially not in front of Barufiniel. There was a proper time for such things.

Instead, she gave him a half-smile. 'Perhaps,' she echoed his Quenya softly, her accent a little closer to that of Beleriand-that-was than his own. 'She would not understand them, she knows not our language, but perhaps that is for the better.'

She paused a moment in thought, and then asked him, 'Do you know Ela'anya Hashanwi Alatya?' It was a song she had learnt long ago, a song of the beauty of the stars and praise for Hashanwi who had made them. It was an old song, she thought, that might have been kept by his people as well as hers. Most of the others she knew told of the deeds of the Kindi, and Abasi would know none of these.

[Willow Oran]

A little later, Haldis had begun to decidely favor her right hand, awkward as it was, due to the persistant, sharp ache running all down her left arm; and had managed to salvage a somewhat legible inventory list from her efforts. Sighing with relief, she set down the quill and parchment (both looking rather worse for wear by now) and shook her hand out. "Sore in both arms," she sighed, "I'm going to be useless for the rest of the night."

Her left arm was begging to worry her. Haldis wasn't particularly young anymore, by her people's standards, but she certainly wasn't old enough for random aches to be in any way normal. She wasn't injured, and while writing was a tedious and uncomfortable chore still, it didn't usually hurt.

Haldis stood up and stretched, wincing as she did. Not just an everyday cramp then. Maybe holding a hot towel on it would help...

She was returning from her tent, sleeve rolled up, and the desired warm cloth pressed to her arm when the sound of unfamiliar singing drifted over to her. It was elvish, but the dialect she had heard only from Tabrîl. Well. That was new. And good, Haldis thought. Curious, she meandered over as discretely as possible to listen.

[Curufin]

Abasi nodded.

"It is a good song. Perhaps then you can sing me the tales of your m'had? I should need to learn them, I think. But yes, first this one. It is good to share, whether uwindi appreciate it or not."

He spoke no more, but raised his rich baritone in song, reproducing the exotic scales of his people, so different from that of the Eldar. It had been so long since he had had reason to sing in his own tongue. It was familiar, and srangely comforting to do so now.

[Varnafindë]

Out of the corner of her eye Barufiniel saw Abasi caressing Tabril's hand with his fingers. She gave no indication that she had seen it, as she was surely not meant to have seen any such thing - if indeed she hadn't just imagined it. As long as the others didn't make a public display of a possible relationship, Baru expected that they would want to keep any such a secret - she guessed that they would see such matters as very sensitive ones - and she would keep their secret for them.

She nodded her assent to the suggestion of listening to their songs. She didn't expect to understand the words, but that was not important. Listening to good music was enjoyable anyway.

Abasi had a good voice. Baru listened, appreciating the music. It was very different from her own, even the scales seemed to be different. But she found it a pleasing sound, and listened intently.

[Aikanáro]

After listening to the first few lines Abasi sang, to be sure it was indeed the same song they thought of, with the same words, Tabrîl joined him, singing the higher, contrasting melody. It was, she knew, very different from Eldarin music, and she did not know what Barufiniel would think of it, but that did not matter. It was good for them to sing together, and their voices seemed to complement each other nicely, which pleased Tabrîl.

When the song was finished, she looked again at Abasi. 'It is better, to sing together,' she said, 'and yes, you might learn them all, if you wished to.' Did that mean he would come back with her, then? He would have to, if he became her shirikabi, no matter how it complicated things. It was not something she needed to think of now, however. She would sing him the songs, either way there was no harm in that.

She tried to think of another song that might fit the occasion. So many that she knew were songs of sorrow, and this was not quite the time for them. Eventually, thinking back on her words to Barufiniel, she settled on another song older than herself, the tale of how the in'kasha Tathilei, later called Tathilei the Wise, had come to leadership of the Kindi, with the blessing of her predecessor, and had set out to found a great realm in the east, the place she had named Kordâla. She told of its building, and of the beauty of it, and how it became their new home.

It was not until that song too was finished that Tabrîl spotted Haldis watching them from a distance. It did not bother her, though, she was used to the peripheral presence of the mortal woman now. She turned back to the others as if she had not seen - if Haldis wanted something, Tabrîl reasoned, then she would approach them of her own accord.

[Curufin]

When Tabrîl began to sing, Abasi listened, his face intense and concentrated. It was a lovely song, with the sound of their people. It was haunting to Abasi, who had for so long wandered alone, to hear familiar words on the tongue of another of his kind. He swallowed suddenly, fighting the burning of tears that came to his eyes, and the burning of shame that flushed his cheeks. Through sheer willpower the tears did not fall, though it took the pain of biting his tongue to the bleeding point to forbid it. He swallowed again as she finished the song, his heart screaming what he had always known. A m'had was not meant to be alone. They were meant to be part of something, part of their kind.

Humiliated by his display of emotion (although likely none but Tabrîl would see it, it was enough), he turned his face away for a long moment until he had mastered it.

"You sing well."

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl did notice Abasi's distress - and the lengths he went to conceal it. She pretended that she had not. Much as she longed to comfort him, she knew it would only shame him to have her draw attention to it in such a manner, and that she would not do. Instead she looked away, giving him time to regain his composure.

'Thank you,' she said simply, after a moment. 'As do you. We shall have much time to sing together.'

Only then did she reach out and touch his hand again, under guise of shifting her sitting position, her fingers resting against his a fraction longer than perhaps they ought to.

[Curufin]

Tabrîl's touch was intensely comforting to Abasi and he felt a shiver go through him as her fingers brushed his. It had been so long since he had contact with another person. Touch was something that was not casual between his people, but between those who were close - even in a platonic sense - it happened. It was a sign of affection, of closeness, even of a friendly and platonic kind.

But it had been years since he had trusted someone enough to allow them to touch him.

Tabrîl's touch brought everything back...the camaraderie of his m'had, the gentle nights he had spent in ka'maren, the gentle touches of approval from his in'kasha...

Gone.

All gone.

Gone to the Dark, and he was left behind.

He blinked for a moment, fighting emotion, then nodded.

"I shall sing you a song of our m'had. It tells of a time of hardship, and the bravery of our m'had in battle."

His words were said not with pride, but matter-of-factly.