Long Lost Leaves - part II

[Aikanáro]

It pleased Tabrîl that Abasi had joined them. As always, she enjoyed his company, and his thoughts on the strange tale that Barufiniel told would be most welcome. She considered his words for a moment, considered the possible insult that had been dealt this Fëanor, and then nodded fractionally, agreeing with his assessment.

What Abasi did next was a thing she did not expect, and she gazed back at him, her eyes meeting his, knowing exactly what it was that he asked. He had pleased her, that was certain, she would not think of indicating otherwise. Yet to move forward, to progress with this as if there were nothing standing in their way? Tabrîl did not know if she thought that was proper.

It was not the time, however, for Tabrîl to think on it overmuch, and her hand moved to his t'rai at her belt, her fingers brushing against his, gently.

'I keep it,' she said quietly in their own language. It was all that she said, but it was enough for him to understand.

[Curufin]

Abasi nodded, almost grimly, as he moved his hands back to his own lap. Then he turned his eyes to her as he said the following words, rather intensely.

"Evi a'rhthi m'hadara trabai."

Translated into the words of the Uwindi, it meant simply "I hold you in the highest honor."

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl looked back at him still, hoping that he didn't notice the slight quickening of her breath and of her heart as he spoke the words. She echoed him with the same intensity in her own dialect:

'La a'ritha m'hadara trabai.'

She smiled then, only slightly, but her eyes told Abasi all he needed to know, that this pleased her more than she would say.

[Curufin]

Abasi looked at her for a long moment, then nodded and turned away, his eyes drifting back to Barufiniel.

"I remember these times you speak of, before the sun. I lived east of Kuivienen-that-was, and we did not know strife in these times. Our in'kasha had found us peace. It was good, that time. Our ka'maren was large and the laughter of children was abundant. We danced and sang by the light of the stars, and life was simple and good. We knew our place in the universe, and did not challenge it. We heard rumors that the others had been taken to a land of plenty, but had no desire to go ourselves, as we had for ourselves more than enough. It was as if our in'kasha had preserved a bit of the innocence that we had known before darkness came to Kuivienen-that-was. We did not have the wars of succession as you did, for these things were kept as they ought to have been, in the hands of the in'kasha. It is not my place to speculate over such things, as I am only m'had, but I am glad I lived among my people, and not among yours. It is true that there is honor to be had in a proper challenge, but I see very little honor in the wars that you describe. It seems to me like simple mindless butchery."

He turned back to Tabril, almost without thought, his eyes taking on a slight twinkle as he touched his fingers to the back of her palm. It was a feather touch, barely a caress, and over quickly. It was not proper to do more than that until the third stage of courtship, and Abasi vowed to abide by the rules. There were those that didn't, but Abasi remembered the times Before, when chaos reigned, and knew the importance of order.

His mind flashed to an image of Tabril, her belly swollen with his child, and the thought pleased him. But such a thing would happen by proper channels, in the proper and time-worn tradition of his people. And it would happen only if Tabril would have him - the decision making was in her hands. He was committed to this relationship now - he had been committed from the beginning, as a courtship, once begun, could only be ended by the female. To break his commitment would be a terrible breach of protocol, and a great loss of honor. A m'had did not start a courtship unless he was certain he wished to see it through to the end.

And Abasi found that he very much did.

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl agreed with much of what Abasi had said. She had never known Kuiviénen-that-was, but in Kordâla there had been peace, for the most part. The hardships they faced there had been born of their environment, not their neighbours. Beleriand had been very different. Butchery he had called it, and that it was, but the Kindi had soon learned the error in trying to challenge an orc to t'inrae, that was honorable combat. They had no honor, and would slaughter even ka'marein and children without thought. The Kindi m'haid had done what they needed to, to protect their people.

These were dark memories she called to mind, and Tabrîl was glad when Abasi's light touch drew her away from them. It was a sign to her of his care for her, and meant much. It did not escape her notice, either, how brief the contact between them, and it seemed to her that this was proof of the regard in which they held each other. It was not tradition, to be closer than this at this stage of courtship, and even if the younger elves in her hall thought nothing of breaching custom in this manner, it mattered to Tabrîl that their ways were upheld.

Even if that were not so, she thought then, it would be unseemly for them to show too much in the way of affection in the presence of Barufiniel. They did not know her well, she was not of their kind, and that alone meant it would not be right.

She did not allow her thoughts to drift too far towards the future they might have, for she knew that such speculations would only trouble her mind. It was enough to her that they were here now, that he cared for her and her affections were not wholly unreturned, even if she doubted he knew the depth of her feeling. It was a matter best kept private, especially in a situation such as the one they now found themselves in.

[Varnafindë]

Barufiniel hadn't been aware that Abasi had been listening to their conversation, but she was happy to include him in the discussion - even though when he called her 'Noldo', she felt that he didn't see this fact about her as a point in her favor.

She tried to think what song would cover the period she was telling about, and the two other Elves started to speak in their own language.

They seemed to check out each other's knives, and to exchange some kind of greeting - something quite solemn, judging by the intensity with which they said the words - perhaps a greeting used only amongst warriors? Baru wasn't sure whether she should ask Tabril about it later, or whether it was some more secret knowledge. For some reason she wouldn't dare ask her while Abasi was within earshot. Which might be any distance.

Then Abasi spoke to her again. He also remembered the time before the sun? Somehow this didn't surprise Baru at all. He seemed to carry some ancient sorrow. Tabril had said that their words were not the same, so he probably didn't live in her people's home. And if he had lived a happy life in the east long ago, there was no telling - without asking him - what he might have gone through after that. And she dared not ask.

"I'm searching my memory for the right song," she said, "for I see that I have misinformed you by saying too little. The wars that followed were not for the succession. The strife between Fëanor and Fingolfin was in quarrelling rather than in fighting. There had been no bloodshed so far.
And Fëanor didn't give his brother a challenge as such. Fingolfin had gone to the King, his Father, to tell him that Fëanor had spoken about rebellion against the Valar, about leading the Noldor back to Middle-earth. He wanted to restrain his brother. Fëanor told him not to come before him to the King, and to keep to his place - and he drew his sword, right inside the King's halls, setting it against Fingolfin's breast, and said that if Fingolfin did this again, then Fëanor would rid the Noldor of him."

She paused a little, considering, and then went on.

"It was Melkor's doing, really," she said. "If he hadn't started spreading his lies, there might not have been any unrest among the Noldor at all, and they would have been living in bliss, like you did under your in'kasha. But Melkor hated the Eldar, and he hated Fëanor, and he coveted his Silmarils. So he made Fëanor think that even the Valar were seeking to supplant him and to put someone more servile in his place. The language issue was mostly symbolic - Fëanor saw it as a symbol of the insult from those who opposed him, the true heir of his father.
After this threat in a public place, the Valar began to investigate the unrest among the Noldor. They untangled Melkor's lies, and sought to punish him for it, but he escaped them. And they punished Fëanor only for the threat against his half-brother, for drawing a weapon against him in the King's halls."

[Curufin]

Abasi frowned deeply, trying to understand the knowledge that he was being told.

"If this Fingolfin and Feanor were of the m'had, as your previous stories imply, then your Fingolfin was utterly out of line to advise your Finwe on anything. It is a warrior's place to do what he is told, not to attempt to advise the Wise. He was out of place, and I see your Feanor's response as a valid and honorable one. It seems unfair that for this he earned banishment. Your Fingolfin was a coward who overstepped his place. Did he ever receive the punishment due him?"

Abasi stopped speaking, moving close enough to Tabril that he could feel the heat of her arm against his, without touching her. He then drew his t'rai.

"Let us play, Tabril," he said softly, bored with Barufiniel's presence.

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl was more than a little confused by Barufiniel's words. Melkor - that was the name the Noldor had for Ba'ilkôro, and surely they would have known not to trust his statements, to allow him to influence them.

Perhaps, she thought then, they heard precisely what they wanted to hear. Particularly if they would not listen to the Wise among them, and if Abasi spoke truly to say that they were m'haid. Tabrîl herself did not know, and did not feel that it would be right for her to speculate upon it.

Abasi surprised her then, in saying that he wished to play. She had thought the story held his interest - but if it did not, then she would happily join him. Barufiniel could tell her more of the Noldor another time, she would not pass up the opportunity to spend time with Abasi, and to play the Game, familiar as it was.

'Very well,' she told him, approvingly, and handed her own t'rai over to him so that they might begin. Barufiniel had witnessed this before, she was certain, even if never so closely. The two of them played often.

[Varnafindë]

He asks me a question, Barufiniel thought, and then he loses interest and turns away from me before I have a chance to answer? He is strange ...

I would have asked him whether m'had is the same thing as warriors, Finwë's sons were not trained warriors, not at that time. There were no warriors at all at that time. And the King had advisors, the royal princes would be among his advisors. There was nothing wrong with them giving him advice.

Perhaps Fingolfin did overstep his place - but if so, in regard to Fëanor, not to Finwë. And what in all of Arda made him look like a coward? Did Abasi require him to attack his brother for that "valid and honorable" response?

Baru shrugged. If Abasi wanted to take up the discussion again later, she could try to ask him then. Until such a time there was nothing she could do about it. She didn't understand him.

She had often seen the two others sitting somewhere apart from the company, playing their game of knife-throwing. She had sometimes wanted to watch it up close, and now perhaps could be her chance.

"May I stay and watch you play?" she asked. "I'll leave you if this is supposed to be a private game."

[Curufin]

Abasi shrugged with disinterest.

"If you wish," he said, taking Tabrîl's t'rai and balancing it in his hand, getting a feel for the throw of it. "I am quite certain you will not distract us."

He looked at Tabrîl with a slight smile and nodded, then made the first toss.

[Varnafindë]

If this game really was like the impression she had got of it, Barufiniel expected that distracting the players would be dangerous, potentially fatal. But their concentration was probably such that they wouldn't easily be distracted by anyone just sitting quietly by them. And that was what she intended to do - just sit quietly and not say a word.

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl caught the t'rai deftly, and gave Abasi a half-smile. Barufiniel's proximity would have bothered her immensely, some months before. The Game ought not to be a spectacle. Yet now she had decided that it did not matter. It was what it was, and neither Barufiniel nor anyone else had the power to change that.

They played on, and picked up speed rapidly. Tabrîl was accustomed now to the way Abasi played, there was no need for the caution one took when the game was played between strangers. Everything else soon faded from focus, the rhythm that was part of her guiding her hands.

'It is perhaps not my place to say it,' she told Abasi as the t'rai flew, again speaking their own language, 'but I believe those other elves would have avoided a lot of their strife if they knew of this. If their ways were more like our own.' It was a comfort to her, in their strange surroundings, and always would be.

[Curufin]

Abasi caught with hands that had been doing this for ages longer than the moon had travelled the sky, a pleasant and natural rhythm that was the journey and life of his people. It was comforting, and it was comforting to share it with her.

"You are quite right," he answered in the same tongue. "They have lives of chaos, without order. Our way is far better, far superior."

He watched her for a long while as they played, his eyes naturally seeking out her strengths and weaknesses. Her left catch was weaker than it should be. It could be a weakness in battle. On his next toss, he threw it extra hard, with a bit of a twist. Weaknesses needed to be fixed.

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl reached out to catch the t'rai, but with the extra strength Abasi had put into the throw, it was too quick for her, and her hand grasped at empty air. The t'rai itself struck her upper arm, cutting deeply. There was a flash of shock in Tabrîl's eyes, as she and Abasi had played so many times without such an incident. It was a mistake on her part, then, she knew. Even fully focused she had managed to make some simple error, and she felt more than a little ashamed of herself for it.

Particularly as that throw of Abasi's had been a little off-center. If it had not been, and she had missed, it would almost certainly have killed her.

The pain hit her then, a fraction delayed, and she saw the blood staining her grey tunic. There was more of it than she would have guessed at, but Tabrîl strove to put aside the pain, to ignore it in its entirety. In battle, one did not have the luxury of calling a halt after taking a wound. It should be as nothing to her.

With a look of intense determination in her eyes she picked up the t'rai again and threw them back to Abasi, just as quickly as she had done before, knowing that was the best way to make up for her mistake.

[Curufin]

Abasi frowned, not in guilt - he had done no wrong - but to have her with such a weakness would not do. He would have to strengthen the catch, make sure that she was protected when the time came.

He caught the t'rai and threw it back, even harder to the same angle, looking at her sternly.

Catch it! he couldn't help but think.

[Aikanáro]

There was a flash of alarm in Tabrîl's eyes, just for a fraction of a second, as she saw that he threw back at precisely the same angle as the catch she had just missed.

Tabrîl caught it, by instinct alone, and more than a little awkwardly. This too surprised her - she would not have thought herself capable of doing so. Did Abasi know that, she wondered? Did he know this was so difficult for her? She no longer thought her missed catch had been only a simple error on her part.

He knew, she thought then. As well as she did, and that was why he did it. He wanted her to improve - and Tabrîl, despite her pain and the level of concentration she had to maintain as she corrected for her awkward catch and threw the t'rai back to him, smiled slightly at the thought. In her own hall her skill was judged to be sufficient, and nobody had attempted to help her improve in a very long time.

[Curufin]

Abasi nodded sternly, although he was upset by the awkwardness of her catch, it was a catch, and therefore an improvement. He caught her return throw, and threw again to that arm, faster and at a different angle so that she did not become used to one throw.

Perhaps, to an outsider, his actions would appear cruel, but combat was cruel, and her opponent would exploit her weaknesses. She had to withstand the pain, learn to strengthen her tactics even in the heat of battle.

And he wanted her strong.

"Your left arm is weak," he said softly.

[Aikanáro]

Tabrîl did not disagree with his assessment, particularly when she again missed the catch. It did not do her serious hurt this time, though, the t'rai merely scraping a shallow cut as it grazed her arm.

'It is,' she answered quietly as she picked up the t'rai, 'and your skill is beyond mine. But I will learn better.'

He would understand her intent, she thought, just as she knew his, and she threw the t'rai to him once again. She was determined now to get the next catch right.

[Curufin]

"It is well. We must not have weaknesses. And when we do, we must make them strengths. We must, Tabril. We must."

His voice was not, perhaps, as dispassionate as it would have been with a normal student, but she was not a normal student. She was his...well, maybe not quite. But close enough. And his feelings...

He frowned deeply. He could not let feelings become a part of this. It was dangerous. To her, if no one else.

Frustrated and angry at his weakness, he threw the t'rai faster and harder, at a slightly lower level than before.

[Aikanáro]

'It is so,' Tabrîl answered, her eyes meeting his momentarily, and she meant it. She knew just how important it was that she stay strong, that she overcome her own weaknesses, and at that moment, with him telling her it, she believed she could.

None of that, however, prevented her from missing the next catch. It was simply too fast for her, and dealt her a long cut along the inside of her forearm. Tabrîl frowned. It hurt, and she was growing frustrated through missing several times in succession.

He would see that she was trying, though, wouldn't he? The thought that Abasi considered her weak was a difficult one for Tabrîl to entertain, and she wasn't doing much to improve the situation.

She bit her lip, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her arm, and again took up the t'rai and threw them, fiercely determined. If her skill wasn't enough, maybe sheer perseverance would be.