Yours to Command

Snake Fish

I swim in the water, yet no fish I am.
I slither through the grass, yet no snake I am.
The sea spawns me, yet its salt kills me.
Do not try to catch me, for your hands cannot hold me.

(Rohirric riddle)

***

Wilwarin studied her reflection in the mirror, quickly smoothing out a frown lest it cause a permanent wrinkle to form. Her dress fell in a shimmering length of bright scarlet to the floor and the flimsy butterfly silk of the sleeves allowed a tantalising glimpse of graceful, white arms. Womanly armour, she thought, only unlike real armour it was designed to give the opponent a glimpse of what lay beneath. Tonight she aimed for elegant yet enticing, remote one moment and provocative the next.

A knock on the door to her room heralded the entrance of her mother. Lady Silivren took one look at her and clapped her hands together.

"You are so beautiful, my sweet!"

Wilwarin looked back at the mirror. Her face was a perfect oval, framed by a pair of curls she had very daringly let escape from the rest of the hair piled up on her head. It had taken her maid over an hour to achieve the deceptively simple style, as if the removal of a pin or two might bring the whole gorgeous mass tumbling down.

The daughter of a minor lord from Lamedon, Wilwarin hailed from a sleepy backward valley, but she had left it behind her long ago. Moreover she had no intention of ever returning there, either. But while her beauty had brought about a gratifying number of offers of marriage from Gondorian lords, she had set her sights higher. After all, if her sister could become a princess, why shouldn't she dream of similar advancement?

She picked up a small tortoiseshell box from a low side-table to the side. It contained a supply of finely ground malachite, imported at great cost from the south. She took a tiny amount with one fingertip and applied it very carefully to her eyelids. Stepping back, she admired the effect in the mirror. The green colour perfectly matched her eyes, making them seem even more sparkling than they naturally were.

Her mother gave a sigh of contentment. "You look like a queen."

Wilwarin snapped the box shut. "I intend to be one."

Her mother regarded her with some alarm. "You're not still upset about this afternoon?"

Upset? No, she was furious when she thought of the way she had been upstaged by that girl. Not even one of the other ladies of the Gondorian court - veterans at the game they were playing - but a twenty-year-old innocent. Some of her emotions must have shown in her face, for her mother clucked worriedly.

"Don't let it worry you, my sweet. She's no competition for you! Why, you are much more beautiful and accomplished."

"She's a princess, the daughter of one of his best friends," Wilwarin reminded her mother.

"But blind as a bat!"

Wilwarin closed her eyes for a moment. "Can't you see? That's exactly the point," she flashed. "He feels sorry for her!"

Her mother shrugged. "Well, of course he does, but -"

"He feels sorry for her and takes an interest in her," Wilwarin interrupted her. "Who knows where that will lead? He might end up offering her marriage out of sheer pity. After all, it doesn't take sight to perform the most important task of a bride."

She stopped herself from saying anything further and took a deep breath. A glance at the mirror revealed an unbecoming pair of red spots on her cheeks. It would not do to be seen like this. She forced the accustomed mask of cool courtesy back over her features.