Flare in the Darkness: Holwena Talnrë of Rothalon

Chapter Five: The Declaration

A gentle knock echoed in the cool, still air pervading the bedchamber.

"Come in, Tialer," said Holwena. She sat in a low chair beside the window, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes staring far away. The early dawn cast her sober face in profile.

"It is time, my lady," murmured the young maidservant who entered, in her arms a pile of garments. "Have you not slept at all this night?"

"Not much, Tialer." Holwena sighed and looked down at her hands. "Very well; I am ready."

She stood and brushed aside her hair, allowing Tialer to unfasten the ties of her dress and slip it from her shoulders. The girl swept up a mass of deep midnight-coloured fabric and lifted it over Holwena's head. It slid over her linen kirtle, settling smoothly at her waist and falling in heavy folds to her lightly shod feet. The gown was all of one piece, lightly fitted to the elbows and the hips, and then the sleeves loosened and flared out; on the underside they were split, and poured out frothy lace like a waterfall.

Tialer took up a silver chain, with a vivid amber jewel set at the end and filgree like the rays of a sun extending from it, and clasped it around Holwena's throat, the gemstone just resting on the squared neckline of the dress. A belt of the same make and emblem encircled her waist. Lastly Tialer drew back three locks of her hair into an intricate braid behind her head, leaving the rest loose; and the coronet of Rothalon finished all.

"You are beautiful, my lady," said Tialer, stepping back with a look of open admiration.

"Does it matter?" returned Holwena with a wan smile.

"No," admitted the servant girl, her shining eyes subdued; "but, hior Talnrë, it is good for the people to see a fair face on this, the proclamation day."

"Yes, maybe." Holwena took the other girl's hand and pressed it, and turned and walked out of the room.

~

She came out of the shadows of the archway into the beams of sunlight, Lord Roharon on her right and Lord Galdeol on her left. The hot radiance and the cool breeze washed over her, and she heard the herald speaking, crying out:

"This day, in the sight of all Rothalon, doth Holwena daughter of Haldorin Talnvar receive the burden of her father: the rule of all Rothalon, and the dominion of its people, to govern them in wisdom, humility, and justice. Thräelder marë Holwena, Talnrë Rothalon!"

Below the high terrace, all within the courtyard of the Serndol-Phar and even beyond the walls bent the knee, acknowledging the small figure above them as their queen. Brightness glittered at her brow, her waist, her neck; her face was sober and withdrawn, and as the heads dipped low all about, her breast rose and fell in a sharp, silent gasp of dread.

I cannot do this.

You were born to do this. There is no other.

~

The fire hissed and chuckled to itself, long pennants of orange and gold licking around the logs and up into the dark night sky. Lord Galdeol sat staring into it, his slender hand resting on his updrawn knee.

Beside him was Holwena, standing with her arms loosely folded across her chest, her frame tense as she stared into the flames. He looked up at her, at her taut, straight shoulders and her strained dark eyes, and rose to come up behind her. "My child," he said gently. "Are you well?"

She did not turn.

"Holwena, riath, I see that you are not yourself. Is it your grief?"

Again she remained where she was for a moment, very rigid and quiet; and then she drew in a small breath that caught midway in her throat, and spoke. "I took up this mantle. I had to. There was nothing else to do. I felt its weight from the moment I took it, and I cannot ease, I cannot stumble, or I feel it will all crumble away. I am standing on a narrow plank, with naught to lean on beside, above or below–"

She whirled to face him and her words came out tumbled over one another, gasping and breathless. "I know I must not falter, I must not fail – but I cannot even relax. I feel like I drew in a breath when Lord Roharon told me the news, and I have never let it go. I – oh, I cannot even grieve, or rest, and oh – how I desire to, but this iron hold on me – will not – let – go!"

"My riath, my riath." Lord Galdeol's eyes filled with her pain. He reached out, enfolded her tightly in his arms. "You are not alone. You know you need not be alone. Hear me, be still. Make those iron claws loosen. Their clamp may come again when you have need of it, but tonight you are a girl. Let yourself weep like one again."

She remained a second still, unresponsive, as she had that day when he arrived at Serndol. Then her body shuddered, and the storm burst. She buried her head against him, sobbing, tear after tear of bitterness, heartbreak, and healing.

As it slowly died away, she rested her head upon his chest, and he knelt on the ground and held her like a young child until she slept.

_____

Thräelder: Hail, acknowledge

riath: child or little woman