Wanderer

5 - Lindon

Earendil

The little ferry slowly drifts down the river as I cling to the railing.

 I’ve been here so many times, re-lived this sequence so much that you would think that would be able to keep my breath every time I round the bend in the river and the Capitol comes into view.

Beside me, Jade can’t help but draw her breath in. If I can only stare, breathless after myriads of visits to the Capitol, how much is it affecting Jade?

A jewel shining in the sun…star of the sea…The Capitol has many names. Tall graceful spires reach into the sky, the white rock gleams in the sun, and the river-lake that is in front of the city is ablaze with light. There is no salt in the air here; the water is clearer than glass. You can get drunk on the lake water. I can see the bottom of the river now, a few fathoms down, and the rippling reeds and the darting fish.

I gaze at the city resplendent in the afternoon and think How can I give this up? My loyalties are divided cleanly in that instant, between her and this. A frown clouds my face.

 Jade turns and pulls Alaytar from his book where he’s sitting alone. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?”

 “Not in anything existing now on this earth.” Alaytar replies. “Except perhaps you.”

 Jade looks pleased, and she almost blushes, but not quite because it’s her father telling her that.

The ferry pulls up to a dock, and several muscled elves standing there jump to attention and moor the craft with ease. They touch their first three fingers to their lips and hold them out to us in respect.

 “Ëarendil the Tall!” the oldest of them calls out, helping me down from the ferry.

 It’s their version of a joke; I’m no taller than they are. I am just tall among men.

“Long have we missed your presence!” the elf continues.

Another joke. I don’t even know this elf, and I went through this scenario exactly two days ago.

 “Astra eldun ono!” they call as we depart down the road towards the gate. The elf that helped Jade down, the youngest, puts three fingers on his mouth again. Laughing, Jade returns the gesture.

To my surprise, Alaytar doesn’t react.

It’s like entering another world. The predominant sound on the wind is the light tone of the elven language, chattered from every street and rooftop by the elves. It’s mixed with laughter and snippets of joyous song. The buildings are high, airy, and made of gleaming white rock. The main square that we eventually come to is at least two miles square and jammed with merchants, poets, and artists, all talking and calling to each other.

Alaytar’s face contains joy uncontained at being with his own people again. Jade doesn’t stop smiling. Her face is radiant. She cries exclamations of wordless delight as she beholds one wonder after another. Her joy reaches a climax as three elven teenagers pull her into a circle and spin around in unconcealed merriment. Their circle revolves several times before the same youth delivers her, breathless and joyous, to us again.

The crowd thins out closer to the palace gates. We’re swept into a stream of murmuring, laughing elves. This isn’t a city hosting a war council – it’s a city rejoicing to exist.

 At the gates, the Elite guards wave us through. Alaytar and I are familiar faces and Jade is obviously Alaytar’s daughter. The head of the Elite, who is recognizable by the plait of gold woven through his hair, motions us to one corner of the courtyard. We stand in a line that files past a bored-looking Elvish male who crosses our names from a fat ledger and assigns us to our rooms. In the older day, the king himself would greet us, but with the enormous amount of people arriving, it’s become impossible for Erenion.

 Alaytar and I scale the huge staircase and walk the halls until we come to our rooms. They’re at the far end of the west wing, two huge rooms with an adjoining bath, study, and kitchen each. Alaytar’s study is a bedroom for Jade.

I set my pack beside my bed and pick up the handwritten note on the coverlet.

 The High King of the Remnant, His Majesty Erenion requests your presence at a dinner at the sixth hour tonight.

 I smile. My seat is close to the king’s; the dinner seating is the same every year. I decide to wash, and then don my formal attire. First things first, though.

I sink onto the lush comforter on my equally lush bed and listen to the chatter and bustle of the elves outside. The sun makes its final descent into the western sky, and I watch it go.