by C S Marks
Wrothgar eventually put aside the idea and turned his thoughts in other directions, as he did have quite a mighty army. His forces included the Bödvari, dragons, trolls and innumerable hosts of Ulcas. Yet he did not entirely abandon the notion of breeding the ultimate warrior, and eventually he sought to continue the work begun so long before. He had learned enough from the earlier vain attempts that he felt ready to try again. It was such an attractive prospect should he succeed, and he had such a likely candidate in the Ulca that eventually turned out to be the sire of Gorgon that he simply could not resist. The origin of this mighty one is uncertain; even Wrothgar himself did not know. He was discovered deep under the Monadh-hin and brought before Wrothgar, whose power and influence were nearly at their peak.
This Ulca stood taller than any man, as broad as a great oak, with skin as dark as pitch. His eyes, yellow and feral, gleamed with a rare intelligence, and his crooked fangs were sharp and long. In spite of his age he was both powerful and enduring, but Gorgon would later outstrip him in both agility and swiftness.
To this impressive bloodline Wrothgar now sought to add the influence of the Elves, and he sent his spies abroad to search for it. They found her outside the Lake-realm of Tal-sithian, and there she was lost. Her people never saw her again, that golden-haired maiden whose own child grew in her womb unaware that it would serve as the raw material for one of the mightiest yet most forlorn of beings. Wrothgar crafted this abomination carefully, for he thought to set Gorgon at his right hand—the perfect general of his mighty army. Gorgon and others like him would lead the dark host to a victory that would result in the ultimate destruction of the Elves, as well as any of the race of men who would not bend to his will. Such was his design, but it would not come to pass, for Wrothgar did not reckon with the fierce independence and stubbornness of the Èolarin heart, and Gorgon answered to no purposes save his own.
Chapter 16: "He Who Waits"
The rain ceased by late afternoon, clearing to a sky that promised bright stars. Rogond sought out Nelwyn to learn more of the truth of Gaelen’s history, knowing that Nelwyn, who was closer in friendship with Gaelen than anyone, would have much to reveal. He knew also that Nelwyn both loved and trusted him, and would be kindly disposed to his request for enlightenment. He didn’t need to worry about Gaelen—she had gone with Magra, Thorndil, and Belegund on a foray to the south, from which she would not return until dawn.
Rogond had allowed her to ride Eros, to their mutual delight. Rogond wondered for a moment whether he had lost his favorite mount, but when the great horse nuzzled him as Gaelen rode up to bid him farewell, he knew his friend was forever faithful.
"Why will you not come with us? I can choose another mount for tonight," said Gaelen.
Rogond looked away from her for a moment. "I need the time to meet with Fima and ponder our next course. He always seems to know what to do in any situation. Besides, I have been looking forward to spending some time with him."
Gaelen wondered whether he was being truly forthcoming, but the others were waiting and she could not delay.
When Rogond was certain that she had gone, he spent a few brief moments in a last debate with himself, then found his resolve and went in search of Galador and Nelwyn.
He strode out in the early evening, seeking the gentle, golden- haired Nelwyn in one of her favorite haunts: a quiet glade surrounded by fragrant vines, carpeted with moss and soft grass. Here he found her in quiet conversation with Galador, who rose protectively to his feet until he recognized Rogond. He greeted his friend and then started to ask if there was some pressing purpose to his coming, as he sensed some urgency in Rogond’s manner. Rogond held up a hand to quiet him.
"I have come on a matter of some concern to me, yes, but I need to speak with Nelwyn. You are welcome to remain if you wish, as this may or may not take long. You, I believe, are aware of most of it anyway, having been in counsel with Lady Ordath."
Galador looked down at his hands, muttering something about the inability of some folk to keep matters in confidence. "Please do not be wrathful…I merely wanted to seek answers to questions that would help me to guide you, as I always have when you have sought my aid. I didn’t mean to pry too deeply, and in truth I learned very little from the Lady."
Rogond smiled wryly at Galador, who still would not look directly at him. "And what matters did you not pry deeply into, my friend? If you refer to the unfortunate history of Gaelen and her lost love, then be content, as I’m here to seek enlightenment from Nelwyn on this very subject. I no longer have time for veiled insinuations." He turned to Nelwyn and drew a deep breath.
"I love Gaelen and would seek happiness with her, if only in this life, for I know that is the best I may hope for. It’s time I knew the nature of the obstacle I must overcome to win her. You are well aware of the workings of Gaelen’s heart. Will you aid me?"
Nelwyn was somewhat taken aback by this bold declaration. She looked briefly at Galador and thought for a moment. Then she looked into the eyes of Rogond the Aridan. In them she saw much the same longing that she had beheld in the eyes of Galador that day on the western slopes of the mountain, before he had left her to seek the aid of Mountain-home. Rogond…he is so young, she thought, yet he has such a brief span of years before him. He has not the luxury of patience over long years of waiting, as we do. I can’t blame him for wanting to know the truth, yet why he does he not ask it of Gaelen herself ? She posed this question to him, and he looked away from her for a moment.
"Because…I am not yet ready to face her. I cannot know how she will react, as I do not yet comprehend the matter myself. I thought that if I knew the truth, I could more carefully craft my inquiry, and be more cautious of her feelings."
Nelwyn chuckled in spite of herself, for she took his meaning. "I believe you’ve just told me you are afraid of her reaction should you speak too plainly with her. That’s quite understandable. Gaelen has gone to some lengths to establish herself as less than approachable, and make no mistake—she can be somewhat prickly, especially when it comes to matters that make her uncomfortable, as this surely will. Still, she admires you, and appreciates your forthrightness. If you truly love her, you had better get used to dealing with her."
She looked over at Galador again, rejoicing in the hope of enjoying his company for a long span of years. Would she now deny Rogond the chance at the same joy? She could not send him to face Gaelen unprepared, even though it might mean incurring the wrath of her occasionally difficult cousin. And she had a sense that Gaelen, who clearly was very fond of Rogond, would quickly forgive the indiscretion, for she had always disliked veiled insinuations and innuendoes. She preferred honesty and clarity of purpose.
"Sit down, my friend, and I will tell you what I know. Having learned of it, may you choose wisely."
Gorgon Elfhunter, the Half-elven, was stirring once again in his dark sanctuary. His wounds still pained him, but grew less with each day that passed. He had risen and sought one of the pools of icy water that formed in the deep caverns, washing the blood and Elf-stench from his body, now charged with the new hope of aid from the Shadowmancer. Gelmyr had not appeared since Gorgon had heard the voice of Wrothgar in his despair. It was likely that the wretched dead Elf had been banished forever. This thought cheered Gorgon immensely as he stood beneath a cascade of snow-melt that poured through a rocky fissure in the cavern’s roof. It took his breath for a moment, but he felt his own malevolent energy surging deep within him as the icy water pounded his shoulders and turned his long hair—the fine, silky hair of his mother’s kin—into a river of gold.
Soon he would once again don his black armor and set forth into the wide world. There he would move cautiously to Tûr Dorcha to meet with the One who knew and understood his nature more completely than any other. The Shadowmancer had promised aid, and though Gorgon was still wary and mistrustful, the promise of some new power that would help vanquish his pursuers and achieve his hateful purpose went a long way toward dispelli
ng all doubt. His lip curled with contempt as he spoke the name of the She-elf who, along with her companions, was surely doomed to die by his hand. "Gaelen…Gaehhlehhnnn…you have wounded me, little maidrin.
But the hurts I have received from you will be as nothing compared with your fate. Enjoy each breath you take while you may." Gelmyr did not appear to offer argument. So long as Gorgon’s resolve was strong, he would come no more.
Rogond and Galador had listened with fascination to Nelwyn’s tale, recounting all she knew of the nature of Gaelen’s lost love. Nelwyn had never met him, or even seen him, but she knew of him—they all did. Rogond had seen several renderings of him here in Mountain-home, paintings depicting various heroic acts. All were similar: a very tall, powerfully built, dark-haired Elf-lord, stern-faced and keen-eyed. Above his head there was a banner of sable and blue, bearing the design of a field of silver stars encircling a sunburst of gold.
The same design was barely discernible on the worn leather pouch Gaelen wore always. It had been passed down an ancient line, adorning the banners of some of the mightiest and most wise, and it took a moment for Rogond to comprehend that little Gaelen, lowly Sylvan Elf of the Greatwood, had given her heart to none less than Ri-Elathan, the last of the High-elven Kings.
Galador shook his head in disbelief. How could it be so? Yet he recalled now an incident that had occurred during the feast in the hall of Ri-Aruin, and again in Monadh-talam. "The Tragic Fate of Ri-Elathan" had been harped and sung by the fine minstrels in both realms, and each time Gaelen would rise and take her leave, as though she would not suffer herself to hear it. Galador had not understood or really taken notice at the time, but now the reason was quite clear.
Rogond now recalled the words of Ordath. Do not count him fortunate. His life was hard nearly beyond enduring, and he did not become acquainted with Gaelen until the very end of it. He died a hard death, for many reasons. Rogond was overcome for a moment, and his heart ached with empathy for Ri-Elathan. He knew that the High King had lived most of his life in solitude, burdened with the responsibilities of his office and the dreadful doom that lay before him. At last he had been allowed to open his great heart to the one unlikely spirit who was to be bound forever to him, only to leave her until death reunited them. Rogond could not imagine the grief that this grim fate had wrought.
Nelwyn recounted all that Gaelen had told of her first encounter with Ri-Elathan, where she gave her heart forever to him, and of their reunion at the gathering of the Great Host as it moved northward, going forth to engage the armies of Darkness. Then she told what she knew of their final parting. Ri-Elathan had left Gaelen behind; insisting that she return to the Greatwood, promising to come for her should he survive the war. But he had known then that this was not likely, as he had foreseen his own terrible death. He spoke without much hope, yet Gaelen kept faith in her heart that he would return, for she was very young and could not allow herself to think otherwise.
Together with the hosts of Tal-sithian and the Woodland, Ri- Elathan succeeded in routing Wrothgar’s army, but the effort and the losses were great, lasting for several years. During that time, many of the Sylvan Elves were lost. Nelwyn’s father Turanen and her uncle Tarmagil both perished in the final great assault. Wrothgar was finally defeated, but at the cost of the High King.
Even though they were far from the battle-plain, Nelwyn and Gaelen had both known when this final, desperate stand occurred, for as Ri-Elathan gave up his life, Gaelen’s heart was torn from her. She had fallen to her knees as though stricken, unable to breathe, an expression of horror in her over-bright eyes. Nelwyn had reacted with alarm, not knowing what had befallen her cousin, and called Gaelen’s name over and over.
Gaelen’s eyes met Nelwyn’s then, and she had covered her face with both hands and wailed—the high, keening sound of a heart that has been forever diminished by unfathomable loss. Nelwyn backed away in fear, for she did not yet understand, and Gaelen turned from her, still wailing, calling the name of her beloved as though to stop his flight from the world. But of course, she could not. Her faith had been ill-founded, and his doom the stronger, for she would never lay eyes upon him again in this world.
Her face somber and voice breaking as she recalled that dreadful day, Nelwyn finished her tale. She would later learn of the deaths of her father and uncle, and of the outcome of the assault and the defeat of Wrothgar, but all she knew then was that her closest friend had been overcome with grief. She had tried to comfort Gaelen, and in the days that followed she was of great help, but right then it made no difference; Gaelen was alone in her devastation, beyond all reach.
It was of no surprise to either Gaelen or Nelwyn when Tarfion, the only one of the three brothers to survive, returned at last to the Greatwood, bearing with him the blade of Tarmagil and the bow of Turanen. With him came the mighty Magra, his pain and empathy clearly visible as he returned to Gaelen the scorched and tattered remnant of the silken banner that she now preserved and cherished, carefully folded, next to her heart.
Rogond despaired at the thought of Gaelen in such pain, and he could not imagine it having ever been so, for she now seemed cheerful, strong, and self-possessed. Yet, Nelwyn cautioned him, the pain was still there, and Gaelen had been forever diminished by it. Though much time had passed, and her spirit was nearly whole again, the sun would fall into the sea before Gaelen would ever forget either her love for Ri-Elathan or her pain at his loss.
"This is the chasm that you must cross," she told Rogond, clasping his hands in gentle concern. "It is both wide and deep. I hope the way has been made clearer for you with this knowledge and that I have not daunted you beyond trying, for I would see Gaelen’s heart truly glad again. This knowledge must be guarded closely; none now know of it who remain in this world save few—Magra, Lady Ordath, and, of course, myself. What Magra knows he learned from Ri-Elathan, for they were great friends."
Rogond looked discouraged. "A deep, wide chasm, indeed. Is there any hope that she might love me, Nelwyn? How can I compete with the High-elven King? How can she find room in her heart when it is filled with so much pain?"
"She did not love the High King; she loved the soul of Farahin, for such was his name before he took the scepter. And love that fills the heart will overcome and diminish the pain. It will never be gone, but it may be assuaged, at least that is my hope. She has resigned to living her life in waiting, but I pray that it will not always be so. She holds some love for you, of that I am certain. Whether the love she has to give will be enough to sustain you is another matter, and something that only you may decide. At any rate, I have done as you asked, for good or ill. Take the knowledge and hold it close in your heart, and follow your desires wherever they lead. Know that I am your friend and confidante, Rogond, so long as you have Gaelen’s welfare in mind."
Rogond nodded and managed a weak smile, though his eyes were haunted. This was a lot for him to absorb all at once. Galador and Nelwyn turned to leave, but Galador lingered for a moment, turning back toward his friend as though he wanted to remain. He spoke quietly to Nelwyn and embraced her ‘ere she left them. Then he approached Rogond, placing a hand upon his shoulder.
"I would speak with you awhile, my friend. Know that I am as surprised as you are by the things I have learned this day, but there is a matter of concern to me, and it cannot wait any longer. This will be difficult for me to say, and perhaps difficult for you to hear, but hear it you must."
Rogond shrugged, resigned to hearing yet another disquieting tale. "As you wish. I expect I know the nature of your concern. I have heard enough already today, such that my senses are numb and my heart knows not where to turn. Speak your mind and guide me if you will. I know you are a true friend."
"That I am. But now I must pain you by warning you to back away from Gaelen. I have feared that you loved her from the first, and now you have spoken of it not only with me, but also with Ordath." He paused and drew a deep breath. "I have more knowledge of these matters than you know.
The greatest sorrow of my life has been brought about through the love of a mortal woman, and my grief has been difficult to bear. I loved her long ago, with all of my heart, and she was taken cruelly from me. I will never see her, share her spirit, or hear her voice again, as she has gone where I cannot. The pain of this loss nearly took my life."
He looked into Rogond’s surprised, distressed face. "You have only considered your feelings in this matter. What of Gaelen? Even should she bind herself to you, despite her love for Ri-Elathan, you will be with her for only a short while. Then death will take you beyond hope of reunion. She has been grieved for much of her life. Would you now afflict her heart with such despair?"
Rogond’s face was drawn in an expression of pain, and his eyes were bright as he answered his friend. "Would you rather see her alone for the rest of her life? She has known real love for only a short while; her grief and loss have afflicted her for a thousand years. Yet she continues—an indomitable spirit determined to live happily. That is what has made her different from you, who have lived these long ages in sorrow. Gaelen will decide for herself, but know this: my heart is given to her, whether she will have it or no. And I will love no other."
Galador’s face was stony. "So said I to my love so long ago. If I had known then what would befall, I would have chosen differently… for both my sake, and hers. I am different from Gaelen because she lives in the knowledge that, one day, she will see her love again. I have no such hope." He cast his eyes downward for a moment, drawing a deep breath. Then the moment passed, and his confidence returned. "My happiness with Nelwyn has made me the most fortunate of souls, for she is of Elven-kind, and I am of Elven-kind, and we shall be together not only in this life, but the next. That is what Gaelen had of Ri-Elathan, however briefly. That is the order of things as they should be. I love you as a friend, and I will not interfere with your choice, but consider carefully, for you threaten not only your own happiness, but hers as well. Farewell, Rogond."
