Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Little Breeze

Her world shattered in an instant. Two words rocked the very foundations she had rebuilt after the death of her father. Everything she had done to prepare for this moment came down to little more than the dust on a mantlepiece. She fell back, clutching the edge of the table to support herself.

"He's here?" she repeated. Jarron nodded solemnly.

"Edros demanded you meet him at the border. He would not say why," Jarron stroked his chin, "only that if you did not meet with him, he would," Jarron hesitated.

"Mount an attack against Gondor," Nara finished bitterly. She sat heavily into her chair, the burden of responsibility weighing heavier than ever. Prince Hassun of Rohan, now king, begged for her aid in the civil war destroying Rohan from the inside. His elder brother and traitor, Edros, occupied her army in the mountains and now his brigands threatened to burn the outlying villages one by one.

The high council also posed its own demands and agendas. They demanded her attention most of the day and well into the night. Getting them to cooperate was a full time chore that required her full attention.

"Nara," Jarron said sharply, "did you hear me?"

Nara shook herself from her musings.

"I am sorry, uncle," Nara said, "there is much that plagues my mind of late."

Jarron smiled wearily, his age showing clearly through worn lines. He placed a hand lightly in her shoulder and drew her into his arms. Nara rested her head against his solid, warm chest.

"I know," Jarron soothed. "You worry about your friend?"

Nara nodded.

"I fear I'll never see her again." Tears pricked the back of her eyes. Nara missed Ithilwen greatly. The calm, gentle elleth had been her truest friend and greatest comfort after her mother's death.

"You will see her soon, little breeze."

Nara let out a small laugh. "You have not called me that for many years, uncle."

Jarron looked down at Nara with a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes.

"There was no need. You have grown from a soft breeze to a great wind that shapes mountains with the force of your will and the strength of your passion. Gondor has never known a greater queen." Jarron held Nara at arms length. His eyes and face serious. "You must find the strength to carry on, the wind does not stop. Not even in the face of the greatest mountains. If need be, the wind shall carve a path and beat the mountain to the ground. Just as the river forges a new path through the hardest of soils so too will you make it through these hard times. I believe in you, Nara, my queen."

Nara flew into her uncles arms.

"Thank you, uncle, thank you," she whispered. Jarron held her for a moment. Knocking interrupted them.

Nara stepped back, smoothing her hair and hurriedly brushing away tears.

"Enter," she called. Lord Telmar entered the room fully armored and dusty from time spent on the road.

"You wished to see me as soon as I returned?"

"Yes, yes, please sit. Barris, bring the Lord Telmar a glass of wine," Nara ordered. Barris poured Lord Telmar a glass as the Lord seated himself at the table. Jarron stood just a little way off, watching the lord with great interest. Telmar took a long draught of wine, sighing when he drained the cup. Barris filled it again.

"Ah," Telmar exclaimed, "investigating is thirsty work." He sipped his wine.

"What, my lord, were you investigating?" Jarron asked, eyes narrowed and searching. He leaned against the back of the chair, studying Telmar with scrutiny. Telmar glanced at Nara. She nodded.