Movement I: Prelude
Haleth paced in the halls of the keep, blue eyes
snapping
with anger and
worry. She stopped a young boy running errands for the soldiers,
carrying
arrows to replenish the archers’ supply, and asked, “How goes the
battle?”
“Our people fight well,” he said,
then ran back to his post.
She repressed
a silent snarl of frustration; everyone she had questioned had evaded
her,
fearing her father’s wrath should he find out his daughter’s interest
in the
battle.
She stalked back to her
rooms, a proper lady’s
bower to do needlework and to brew herbs in, but nothing more.
Certainly not to
learn the arts of war.
Slamming the doors shut in
irritation, she ignored her
attendants’
whispers, knowing that they all knew what had irked her so badly.
Haleth would
have spat on the immaculate, polished wooden floor, but her training as
a woman held her in check. In defiance of
her absent father and of her manners, she spat anyway, again ignoring
her
attendants’ shocked looks. Her skirts swirled about her as she turned
away from
the women.
“My lady Haleth—” one of them
began. It was the chief of her
attendants,
Lady Bríani, whom her father often held up as an example to
her—and thus the
most irritating of all of the women in the keep.
“Go,” she ordered curtly,
still refusing to acknowledge their
presence and jerking
a thumb at the door. “I have no need for you.”
They quietly gathered up
their needlework and left, no longer
offended by
her rudeness. They had grown accustomed to their lady’s fiery
temperament,
better suited to a battlefield than a lady’s bower.
What good will
needlework do when the men
fight at the gates? she seethed silently.
Herbs I can see a use for, but there are plenty of others who
are
willing to concoct the brews I am forced to make. Why cannot I fight?
Why must
Father be so blind?
She respected and dearly
loved her father, Haldad, but he
kept her caged
and behind bars until she thought she would scream. She longed for
freedom, and
open skies, not the detestably safe bower where she could cower and
scream if
even a spider crawled inside.
For what Haleth was most
terrified of was to die forgotten,
without glory
and honor, to be considered only as breeding stock to bear sons, who
would
claim the renown she herself longed for. She did not fear death, for
death was
Eru’s gift to the Edain. No, she feared to die without glory, to die
without
gaining some measure of immortality, to live on in songs.
She shut and barred the door
before walking with a lynx’s
silent grace to
an ironbound, locked wooden chest. It held her most precious and
best-kept
secret, one that no one, not even her twin brother, Haldar, knew of.
She
unlocked it with a key that hung on a chain about her neck, then pulled
out
what was to her a treasure beyond the wealth of kings.
It was a simple steel sword
with a leather sheath, with no
precious jewels
or gaudy ornaments to make it a prince’s weapon. But it had been
wrought well
in some smith’s forge, sharp and well balanced.
It was a warrior’s weapon.
She laced herself into
equally simple but functional leather
armor,
awkwardly tying the laces at her sides. Then she drew the gleaming
sword, gazing
at her own reflection in the polished and oiled metal. Running one
finger along
the edge, she smiled, and did not cry out as the keen blade cut her
finger.
However, she did have to resist the urge to suck on it as a child
would. She
let the blood drip on the floor unheeded as she held out her sword in a
salute
as if facing an invisible opponent, then mock-parried a hack to her
side.
She ran through what little
the arms instructor had taught
her before her
father had put an end to the official
lessons, and silently snarled when she heard booted footsteps outside
her door.
Hoping that they would leave, she froze, and would have cursed when she
recognized her brother’s tread.
“Haleth!” The voice confirmed
her guess, and she sighed as he
pounded upon
the door. “Haleth, open the door. It’s locked.”
Precisely—and for
a reason. She
debated on whether to let her brother in or not, and grimaced, knowing
that her
decision all boiled down to one question.
Would he keep silence or
divulge her secret to their father?
“Haleth!” He pounded again
enthusiastically, and Haleth
winced. She had
grown accustomed to the soft tapping of her attendants, and she knew
that she
had to let him in before he attracted more unwelcome attention.
Carefully
laying the sword down, she crossed the floor, unbarred the door, and
then
dragged him inside before he could say anything. She slid the bolt home
again,
ignoring Haldar’s raised eyebrows and crossed her arms.
“What do you want? Or did
Father send you to fetch me so that
he may
lecture me upon my unwomanly behavior?” She knew that she was being
nasty and
sarcastic, but her frustration refused to back down.
“Haleth, if you were a little
more gracious, and behaved more
like a
civilized woman rather than a savage orc—”
“So is that the new rumor
now? That Father wed an orc, and
that’s why I’m
such a Valar-forsaken woman? Or wait, I’m a halfbreed orc, which is why
I so
obviously am a servant of Melkor, and hate the Valar.” She was
trembling as she
picked up her sword, unwilling to look at her brother in the face, but
gathered
her courage and glared at him. He winced, and looked away from the
passionate
fury burning in blue eyes.
“Haleth—” She ignored him and
surged on, all of her ire and
anger at being
mocked for years coming to the fore.
“Go away if that’s what
you’ve come to tell me, Haldar. I’m
more than sick
of hearing Father and the other women of the hold lecture me, not to
mention
the elders. That doesn’t include the men and boys snickering behind
their
hands, mocking me and Father both. I don’t
need to hear more from you!” Her
outburst finished, she ignored him and the tear at one edge of her left
eye. “Unless
you have something new to add that no one else has said before, go away, Haldar,” she said, her voice
shaking. “I’m sick of listening to everyone scold me.” The tear
dropped, and
Haleth rubbed her eyes.
Now I have lost
so much control that I
must weep… but she could not bring herself to
care, and she
turned away from Haldar, waiting for him to leave.
Haldar was startled that Haleth was weeping, but he pitied
her brittle
strength. One day, it would break, and he had no desire to see Haleth’s
bright
spirit dimmed. “Haleth, I’m sorry,” he said, looking at the floor,
trying to
resist the impulse to hug his sister as he always had. Then he crossed
to her
and put his arms about her. “I’ll speak to Father—”
“Haldad will listen to you as he
will not to his daughter,” she said, only cold bitterness and rancor
remaining
from the fire that had raged before. “Much as I love Father, he is
blind.”
“What do you want, Haleth?”
“Immortality,” she whispered. As he gasped at her
audacity to
go against
Eru’s will, she continued, “Oh, not as the Eldar are immortal. I want
to live
on in songs and in stories as myself, not because I bore a son, who
single-handedly defeated legions of orcs. I want glory, honor, and
renown. I
want to be respected as Haleth, not
Haldad’s daughter, not your sister, and not
the mother of the son I will be forced to bear!” Her voice spiraled
upwards in
volume and pitch with each word, and she jerked away from Haldar,
unable to
bear his pity. Compassion and sympathy she might have accepted, but
never pity.
As she pulled away, her bloody finger brushed Haldar’s hand, and he
started
when he felt the wetness.
“You’re bleeding,” he said gently as he noticed her
finger.
“I’m not frightened. And it doesn’t hurt.” The
response was
automatic after
having dozens of people hover over her if she even pricked herself with
a
needle. Instead, she spun to face him with the blade in her hands,
holding it
with instinctive grace. But arrogance—no, not arrogance, hubris—showed
in her
face as well, pride that she was the daughter of Haldad, descendant of
a line
of warriors and of the Second House of the Edain, and he knew what she
would
ask next. He raised one hand as she opened her mouth to speak,
forestalling her
speech.
“No, Haleth,” he said. “The little instruction you
gained
from armsmaster
Malron is more than enough. I will not contribute to this folly and
madness
when you might die on the battlefield if I give you this aid you seek.”
He
turned and left for the door, but stopped when she shouted at his back.
“You’re the same as all of them!
I thought at least my twin brother would have understood,” she said,
while
thinking that Haldar knew less than he imagined. “I thought that at
least you
were not as blind and foolish as Father—”
“Don’t speak ill of our father, Haleth,” he warned.
“Why? Because it is unwomanly? I am already
unwomanly for
desiring to do
battle; what does one more transgression matter?
“I would have thought that you were wise enough to
understand
Father’s
concern for you, or that the battlefield is not for women!”
“I am not ashamed to admit that I
am not a coward!”
“Hold your fool tongue still!” Haldar was not as
quick to
anger as his sister,
but when he did, he was a match for Haleth. “Battle is not
glory, Haleth. It is only death, death, and more death, nothing more
and
nothing less. It is evil, Haleth. It
is an insatiable beast that feeds on agony. Think you that you could
stand the
pain, the blood, the dying when I
barely can?”
“I am not afraid, brother. And who are you
to judge that because you are male, you can stand more than I can? It
was
always I who faced our father when in
mischief, always I who could stand
more pain!”
“Battle is not
only of physical pain, Haleth!” he flung back. “It brings suffering and
grief.
What is glory beside that?”
“Easy for you to say!” She
dropped the sword, heedless of the wooden floor as she gestured angrily
outside
where the men still fought. “You are
not expected to only breed heirs, to do nothing until dead of old age
or dead
from childbirth!” Haleth raged, with a strange tone in her words. “You
will
always be remembered with praise, for you are Haldad’s son and heir.
But I? Nay, I will not be remembered, or if I
am, it will only be because I bore a son to do great deeds! It is you who will live on,
you who will be
honored, while I am
forgotten, left to my fate as a woman—left to my fate to bear children
and then
be forgotten, disappearing from memory and time!”
Haldar finally recognized the emotion that lurked in
her
words.
Terror.
Before he could examine this observation yet
further, she
spun around,
leaving him only a view of her trembling back that still remained
unbowed
despite her anger and terror. Haldar was taken aback at her outburst,
and
realized the depth of his sister’s fear.
“I’m sorry, Haleth,” he said again.
“Go away, Haldar,” she said as she picked up her
sword. “I’m
not in the
mood to talk with you anymore.”
Haldar sighed, and quietly left the room, wondering
how he
could help his
sister, to relieve the darkness and fear that weighed upon her so
heavily.
Or if he even could.
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