"You must be patient, Longsword." Allazar said quietly, sitting on the edge of his bed. "Can you imagine your Lady's anguish?"
Gawain shrugged his shoulders, grateful that the wizard couldn't see his face. Anguish he knew, but he could not understand Elayeen's. So much had happened, for both of them, and so quickly.
"I do not even know if she is my Lady. She is throth, and must be near me to live. But I do not know if I can claim to be hers, or she mine. She seemed so…pained…that I was not a dreaming shade…that we had lain together…"
Allazar shook his head sadly. "Not to know, Longsword. Not to know if one is living a dream, or living life. Not to know if at any moment, you might awaken briefly in some fresh agony. You must be patient. She is your Lady, Longsword, else she would not have taken you to her, even in faranthroth shades. Take comfort from that, and wait. It is all you can do."
"I shall go mad."
"So might she."
Gawain spun around, his eyes wide with fear. "In truth?"
Allazar nodded. "Gentle Merrin must guide her back now. Your presence would simply confuse matters. It may take some time."
"Time?"
"Aye. Perhaps only the first pains of athroth will suffice for Elayeen to know for certain that she truly lives, and that this is not faranthroth, or the yonderlife, or an athroth dream."
Gawain sighed, and slipped the longsword from his shoulder. "Then it is my fervent hope, Allazar, for her sake, and mine, and yours, that I do not have to wait too long."
Allazar eyed the sword. "I am glad you are possessed with this strange aquamire, Longsword. It is only the absence of blackness in your eyes that reassures me you are jesting when you say such things."
"What makes you think I was jesting?"
27. Martan of Tellek
For a full week Gawain paced the small room at the inn, and occasionally ventured out to walk the narrow snow-blown streets of Tarn. Each day, Allazar went to Rak's house, and each afternoon returned with quiet words of encouragement. But Elayeen still did not call for Gawain, and all the wizard could suggest was 'patience and understanding'.
Gawain tried hard to understand. Never had he loved, much less lain with a lover. He could never know elven throth, but the dreadful ache in his heart was, to him, the greatest pain he had known since Raheen. Thinking of his own dreadful loss, and how it had maddened him, helped him to understand something of Elayeen's distress, and was all that restrained his legs when they would otherwise dash him across the square to Rak's house.
Patience, though, was in short supply.
"She seems better, today." Allazar said, munching on a drumstick. "Lady Merrin is pleased. Apparently, your Lady has been playing happily with young Travak, and ate a hearty breakfast, and earlier this morning went for a walk up to the Point overlooking the Teeth and the farak gorin. The fresh air has left her a little tired, but helped colour her cheeks."
Gawain tried to take comfort from the wizard's words, but paced the creaking floorboards fretfully.
"And she seems full of wonder at dwarven ways, and how some words in Threlland's language are shared in her own tongue. She is much improved, I would say."
"Yet still would see me not." Gawain mumbled.
"Time, Longsword. Patience."
"I am going slowly and quietly mad, Allazar. Beyond the Teeth, Morloch's army attacks the rock and tries to force a breach. Still the southlands are trapped in snow. Still we await spring warmth or rains to wash this vile white blanket away. There is no word from Eryk of Threlland, much less from Juria's crown, or Callodon, or any other. My heart aches like it's pumping Elve’s Blood, and all you can say is 'time'. I must do something."
"You could go for a walk, the path to the farak gorin is almost clear I heard."
"Or I could cheer myself up by killing something." Gawain sighed. "It's been a while since I hacked a whitebeard in two and at least it would pass the time you're so fond of mentioning."
Allazar sighed. "You know, I'll wager you didn't make such threats against that miner when you shared crueller quarters with him for weeks beneath the Teeth."
"No, I didn't. But then I like Martan and have yet to find a dwarf I don't. The same, Allazar, I cannot say for wizards."
"I am hurt by your words, Longsword. After tolerating your sleeplessness, your pacing, the constant sighs, all the times you have cried out in your sleep…need I go on?"
"Think yourself lucky it's only my words you find hurtful." Gawain muttered half-heartedly.
Allazar frowned. "You must be truly in despair, my friend, if you will not rise to my baiting. Forgive me, I had not realised the depth of your feelings for Elayeen."
"Nor had I." Gawain whispered. And then his voice grew stronger. "But I jest not when I say this waiting is driving me mad. Sometimes I am filled with rage that she should reject me so, I who brought her back from death. Other times, I am filled with ineffable sorrow for the pain she endured at my absence, and would slay all whitebeards for permitting, no…requiring my ignorance of her condition. Yet other times, I would beat down the walls of Rak's house just to see her eyes, and tell her I love her, and beg her forgiveness. If she suffers but half of this confusion, then she suffers greatly."
"She does."
"I must do something, Allazar. Truly. I fear my own rage at times. This blackness in me, which you call strange aquamire…sometimes it cries for blood and it terrifies me."
"Strange indeed. I have never seen the like. I do not know what transpired when you shattered the Lens, and by all my knowledge you should be ashes. There are those of my brethren who I am sure would say you are Morloch-cursed, and his vile spirit is in you. Yet I know that cannot be true. I am certain Morloch yet lives beyond the Teeth. I know not how I know, but I do."
Gawain took a deep breath. "Well. I must do something, and so I shall. I shall renew my friendship with Martan of Tellek, he was gravely ill when last I saw him, and I would ask his advice on mining matters."
Allazar tossed his drumstick on a plate and wiped his hands, considering. "Longsword, Elayeen will know if you leave Tarn. She will feel it."
"As will I. But did you not say, the stirrings of athroth might serve to aid her recovery?"
"They might, I do not know. They may also be harmful. And what if she calls for you, and you are not here to answer?"
"Tellek is but half a day's ride. The road is clear, merchants arrived this morning. Will you fetch Gwyn for me? I would go myself, but to approach so close…"
"I understand. I shall tell Rak and Merrin what you intend. If they feel it inadvisable, then I shall not return with your horse. If it is decided that the journey may not harm your Lady's recovery, then I shall bring Gwyn to you."
"Alive, Allazar. Bring Gwyn to me alive. I have neither forgiven nor forgotten your lamentable treatment of horses."
"Aye."
An hour later, and Gawain was in the saddle, leaving Tarn at his back. Gwyn seemed happy to be out in the open, and were it not for the knowledge that Elayeen was growing further distant from him with each hoofbeat, Gawain would be happier too. As it was, he had a purpose. He was doing something, and for all his contempt of wizards, he really did not wish to kill Allazar, and being virtually captive with the whitebeard at such close quarters was a definite risk.
So he tried his best to clear his mind, and fill it not with anguish and yearning, but with duty and purpose. Martan of Tellek was a friend, a worthy one, and Gawain had need of such. So did all the southlands.
It was early evening by the time he rode into the small mining village. There were some folk still about their business, and a group of miners, dirty yet happy and fresh from the mines, drinking ale outside a tavern in the chill breezes. Gawain thought that the evening probably felt warm to them compared with the tunnels that ran beneath the frozen hills. They saw him riding towards them, and tankards paused at lips as eyes widened in recognition. Though few had actually seen the longsword warrior, there were songs and tales aplenty.