Fic: Silver (2/3)
Here's part 2 of the story written for ningloreth. Part 1 is here.
Still smut free, and thanks again to elfscribe5 for the beta.
You can see LotR from here if the light's behind you and you squint hard enough, but all the characters on stage are my own.
Silver, Part 2
When he got back to the house, Kallim headed straight for his room and a much-needed wash and change of clothes. He lingered for a while in front of the dresser, brushing out and tying back his hair, and simply enjoying the cool spaciousness of his own familiar quarters. It was one of the things he had missed most. The Captain's cabin on the Silver Lynx was comfortable and well designed, but it could hardly be described as roomy. Gedrinel's house down by the docks in Dol Amroth was even less so; it might as well be on board ship for all the unused space within it.
Kallim's room, by contrast, was high-ceilinged, sparsely furnished, and protected from the worst of the heat by its heavy stone walls and marble floor. Even with Gedrinel's belongings installed there alongside his own, the overwhelming impression was one of peaceful emptiness. And, of course, it harboured an enormous and extremely solid bed - a luxury he fully intended to make the most of later that night.
Examining himself in the mirror, Kallim decided that life at sea had done nothing to damage his looks. His skin was a little darker these days, which only made his teeth seem whiter, his eyes livelier and the gold at his ears and throat more prominent. A lengthy session with Umbar's best barber had left him smooth-cheeked and presentable - every inch the southern gentleman, at least on the surface. He grinned at his reflection, straightened the neck of his tunic, and crossed to the door.
He found Gedrinel up on the roof terrace, playing cards with Rekia. Zirri was entertaining a client down in the courtyard; the rumble of his laughter could occasionally be heard through the music of the flute and lyre. On the terrace the table was set for three, and the appetisers, plates of olives and pickles and cubes of marinated cheese, had already been subjected to a fairly serious attack.
"You started without me," Kallim said, bending to press his lips to the top of Gedrinel's head. He met Rekia's smile and returned her slight nod of greeting.
"What did you expect?" Gedrinel said, reaching a hand up to Kallim's shoulder and squeezing, the most Kallim could expect from him in front of Rekia. "We were beginning to think you'd found more exciting company for the evening."
"Impossible," Kallim announced, settling himself on one of the empty chairs. "And don't be short with me; it's not as if I've been out wasting my time on fripperies. I've worked some very good deals on your behalf today."
"I can well believe it." Gedrinel raised an eyebrow, and handed Kallim the olives.
"Is your brother not joining us tonight?" Kallim asked Rekia. It had become Meh'ten's habit to dine at Zirri's house twice a week.
"No, the Governor has him tied to his desk until the new trade agreements are complete, or at least that is how he tells it in his message. I suspect his own perfectionism keeps him there until the candle burns out," Rekia said with a gentle laugh.
"Perhaps the truth is a little of both," Kallim suggested.
He chewed his way through a handful of olives while the others resumed their game - with Rekia well on the way to thrashing Gedrinel, by the looks of things - and tried not to feel grateful for Meh'ten's absence. He was a thoroughly decent man, of course, but he could be quite painfully earnest. His gratitude towards Gedrinel and Kallim for their part in Rekia's rescue from her sadistic husband was only matched by his obvious discomfort at any overt expression of affection between them. Kallim was inclined to ignore the fact, but Gedrinel, always acutely sensitive to the opinions of others, became a man-shaped block of wood in Meh'ten's presence.
Luckily Rekia herself was unperturbed by the nature of their relationship. She had even gone so far as to apologise for her brother's manner during their last visit to Umbar. It was not disapproval, by any means, she had assured Kallim; but simply an extension of his general reserve about physical matters, in which he lacked experience. He had grown used to Zirri's company, but even that had taken time. Privately, Kallim was convinced that a night or two with Zirri in her professional capacity would cure most of the man's ills, but he knew better than to make such a suggestion. Zirri had very clear boundaries; and as far as she was concerned, Rekia and Meh'ten were family.
Rekia relieved Gedrinel of his last card just in time for the servants to clear the table and bring out the food. A whole fresh fish baked in salt, great rounds of bread warm from the oven and a selection of sharp and spicy salads were set before them. It was the perfect meal for such a night. Kallim stretched his legs out and reached for a plate.
As they ate, they chatted of inconsequential matters, sharing the best of the gossip from the markets and the docks. Rekia washed her food down with a glass of honeyed lemon juice, while Gedrinel and Kallim mixed their wine with water as a concession to the heat. The humidity had decreased somewhat, but despite the lively seaward breeze that made the night bearable and carried snatches of song and laughter from the neighbouring rooftops, the temperature was still unusually high.
Kallim watched the sweat forming on Gedrinel's neck where his white linen collar fell open, and imagined its taste upon his tongue. His lover would be more comfortable if he could be persuaded to dress sensibly; but he would not under any circumstances relinquish his breeches and shirt in favour of the looser southern clothes.
Rekia looked far cooler in her long gown of soft blue cotton. It occurred to Kallim that she rarely wore any other colour. He thought of the night when they had brought her from S'fayyah, her terribly wounded body wrapped in an indigo-dyed cloak, and wondered if it was coincidence.
"You said you have a new song for me?" Rekia asked, as the plates were cleared away.
"Ah, please, spare us," Kallim sighed.
"Now, Kallim, you know that Gedrinel only sings to indulge me," she said.
"Which just shows that you are a woman with most unusual tastes," Kallim retorted.
Though she herself was an unexceptional singer, Rekia adored traditional airs and shanties. Gedrinel had made it his personal business to present her with fresh material each time they returned to Umbar. Unfortunately his enthusiasm greatly outclassed the quality of his voice, which was rather more shrike than nightingale.
"You have no room to talk," Gedrinel said. "At least I can hold a tune, which is more than can be said of you."
Kallim had to concede, since this was undisputed fact. "Alas!" he sighed dramatically, "I have all the rhythm and none of the notes to go with it."
"Stick to the dancing, and you'll go far," Gedrinel said dryly.
Kallim kicked his leg under the table, but said nothing more. He picked up the cards and dealt himself a hand of solo while Gedrinel started his song. It was a typically miserable affair about a man so long at sea that he fears to lose his mind, with only the thought of his sweetheart sustaining him. He returns home to find that she has upped and married his brother, so he goes back out to sea, where, blinded by his grief, he loses his hold in the rigging and plunges to a grim death, calling out her name all the while.
Rekia was enchanted, and begged Gedrinel to sing it again so that she might begin to commit the words to memory.
"Well, that was certainly cheerful," Kallim commented, as the song came to an end for the second time. He abandoned his game - luck did not seem to be with him, and playing alone was never as much fun as a real contest - and left the cards as they lay on the table. "Don't you know any happy songs?"
"But I like the melancholy ones," Rekia said. "I imagine that the sailors, so far from their loved ones for so long, must feel dreadfully lonely at times."
Aye, when they're not howling drunk, cheating at dice, or groping each other under cover of darkness, Kallim thought. He said nothing, of course. Far be it from him to destroy Rekia's romantic illusions.
"Besides, if you want merry songs, you need Legolas to sing them to you, not me," Gedrinel was saying. "He has tunes that would put the spring back in the step of a ninety year old cripple."
"And elvish songs go on for days," Kallim added. "Legolas usually claims to have forgotten half the verses, but I'm sure it's only to spare the mere mortals among us. When did he ever really forget anything?"
Rekia smiled, her face softening as it always did when they spoke of Legolas.
"He is hoping that you will feel strong enough to make the journey north in the autumn, or maybe next spring," Gedrinel said, pouring himself another glass, more water than wine this time.
"Yes, he says as much in his letters."
"Legolas is writing Haradin now?" Kallim asked. He supposed it should come as no surprise.
"No, Meh'ten translates them for me. He makes me a fair copy, so I can read them over and again at my leisure."
"That's nice," Kallim said. It was an inadequate response, he realised, watching Rekia's manner change as she picked at a loose thread in the fabric of her robe where it stretched across her knees. Her smile faded and a haunted expression took its place. In the flickering lamplight, her face, with its tragic web of scars, looked strangely hollow.
Kallim exchanged a quick frown with Gedrinel, but they were saved from having to find words to break the silence by an unfortunate accident of timing. From one of the rooms below came a series of masculine grunts and shouts - the unmistakeable sound of a man achieving satisfaction, and too lost in his own pleasure to worry if the whole world might hear him.
Despite his anxiety about Rekia, Kallim found himself grinning. "Another happy customer," he said.
"Kallim!" Gedrinel was genuinely disapproving, but Rekia shook her head.
"You cannot deny that he is right," she said, gathering the folds of her robe and getting to her feet. "Well, Nemediyyin, I must bid you goodnight. The heat has quite exhausted me."
Gedrinel stood at once, and offered her a slight bow. "Goodnight, Rekia. Shall we play again tomorrow? You must give me the chance to take my revenge."
"Very well." She nodded graciously. "May you walk in pleasant dreams tonight."
"You're going to lose again," Kallim said, as Rekia vanished around the corner of the staircase.
"I know."
"It's strange; she almost seems to know the card before you turn it."
"I had noticed," Gedrinel said with a wry smile.
"Do you think she always had the gift, or has something of Legolas stayed with her?"
"It's hard to tell." Gedrinel frowned as he leaned forward in his chair to slap at an insect on his ankle. "She yearns to see him again, doesn't she?"
"Of course she does. But I cannot see how it is going to happen."
Zirri had already confirmed that Rekia's condition had changed little since their last visit. For all her apparent serenity and the continued healing of her external scars, she was far from well, and in the months since they had brought her to Umbar, she had not once set foot outside the house. At first, Zirri had tried to encourage her to venture out; but, faced with Rekia’s panic-stricken intransigence, she had let the matter drop.
"She will walk outside when she is ready," Zirri had told Kallim; but he knew her too well to underestimate the depth of her disquiet.
"If anyone's going to help her, it's Legolas," Kallim said, "but if she is going to visit him in the north, he will have to come and fetch her himself -" he stopped, blinked, and stared at Gedrinel, who looked thoughtful. "Would he do it, do you think?"
"Probably not this year," Gedrinel said slowly. "He has his own people's affairs to consider, after all. But maybe in the spring?"
"Imrahil would want to come with him, I have no doubt."
"Imrahil is already sufficiently concerned about Rekia's well-being. I imagine that once we tell him how things stand, he will wish to do whatever is necessary..."
"I think," Kallim said firmly, "that we have a mission to fulfil here, you and I."
Gedrinel nodded. "It will be no hardship."
"Even if she insists on taking Meh'ten with her? I cannot see her leaving him behind."
"He suffers so acutely from his guilt on her behalf. I imagine that he could do with a little elvish healing, himself."
"Perhaps," Kallim said doubtfully, considering. Maybe Gedrinel was right: if Zirri could not sort Meh'ten out, might Legolas be the one to do it? Not that the elf would employ Zirri's customary methods, of course - he spluttered into his wineglass as a disturbing image appeared, fully formed, in his mind.
Shaking his head, Kallim searched around for something to distract him from the unsettling picture. His gaze settled on the cards, still strewn across the table where he had left them. He reached across to collect them and started to shuffle, as Gedrinel watched him, a question in his eyes.
"Enough serious talk for tonight," Kallim said. "A silver piece says I can take you."
"You think so?" Gedrinel said, his eyebrows raised.
"Are you man enough to try me?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
Kallim returned his knowing grin. "Very well then; best of three." He pulled his chair up to the table, and began to deal.
Still smut free, and thanks again to elfscribe5 for the beta.
You can see LotR from here if the light's behind you and you squint hard enough, but all the characters on stage are my own.
Silver, Part 2
When he got back to the house, Kallim headed straight for his room and a much-needed wash and change of clothes. He lingered for a while in front of the dresser, brushing out and tying back his hair, and simply enjoying the cool spaciousness of his own familiar quarters. It was one of the things he had missed most. The Captain's cabin on the Silver Lynx was comfortable and well designed, but it could hardly be described as roomy. Gedrinel's house down by the docks in Dol Amroth was even less so; it might as well be on board ship for all the unused space within it.
Kallim's room, by contrast, was high-ceilinged, sparsely furnished, and protected from the worst of the heat by its heavy stone walls and marble floor. Even with Gedrinel's belongings installed there alongside his own, the overwhelming impression was one of peaceful emptiness. And, of course, it harboured an enormous and extremely solid bed - a luxury he fully intended to make the most of later that night.
Examining himself in the mirror, Kallim decided that life at sea had done nothing to damage his looks. His skin was a little darker these days, which only made his teeth seem whiter, his eyes livelier and the gold at his ears and throat more prominent. A lengthy session with Umbar's best barber had left him smooth-cheeked and presentable - every inch the southern gentleman, at least on the surface. He grinned at his reflection, straightened the neck of his tunic, and crossed to the door.
He found Gedrinel up on the roof terrace, playing cards with Rekia. Zirri was entertaining a client down in the courtyard; the rumble of his laughter could occasionally be heard through the music of the flute and lyre. On the terrace the table was set for three, and the appetisers, plates of olives and pickles and cubes of marinated cheese, had already been subjected to a fairly serious attack.
"You started without me," Kallim said, bending to press his lips to the top of Gedrinel's head. He met Rekia's smile and returned her slight nod of greeting.
"What did you expect?" Gedrinel said, reaching a hand up to Kallim's shoulder and squeezing, the most Kallim could expect from him in front of Rekia. "We were beginning to think you'd found more exciting company for the evening."
"Impossible," Kallim announced, settling himself on one of the empty chairs. "And don't be short with me; it's not as if I've been out wasting my time on fripperies. I've worked some very good deals on your behalf today."
"I can well believe it." Gedrinel raised an eyebrow, and handed Kallim the olives.
"Is your brother not joining us tonight?" Kallim asked Rekia. It had become Meh'ten's habit to dine at Zirri's house twice a week.
"No, the Governor has him tied to his desk until the new trade agreements are complete, or at least that is how he tells it in his message. I suspect his own perfectionism keeps him there until the candle burns out," Rekia said with a gentle laugh.
"Perhaps the truth is a little of both," Kallim suggested.
He chewed his way through a handful of olives while the others resumed their game - with Rekia well on the way to thrashing Gedrinel, by the looks of things - and tried not to feel grateful for Meh'ten's absence. He was a thoroughly decent man, of course, but he could be quite painfully earnest. His gratitude towards Gedrinel and Kallim for their part in Rekia's rescue from her sadistic husband was only matched by his obvious discomfort at any overt expression of affection between them. Kallim was inclined to ignore the fact, but Gedrinel, always acutely sensitive to the opinions of others, became a man-shaped block of wood in Meh'ten's presence.
Luckily Rekia herself was unperturbed by the nature of their relationship. She had even gone so far as to apologise for her brother's manner during their last visit to Umbar. It was not disapproval, by any means, she had assured Kallim; but simply an extension of his general reserve about physical matters, in which he lacked experience. He had grown used to Zirri's company, but even that had taken time. Privately, Kallim was convinced that a night or two with Zirri in her professional capacity would cure most of the man's ills, but he knew better than to make such a suggestion. Zirri had very clear boundaries; and as far as she was concerned, Rekia and Meh'ten were family.
Rekia relieved Gedrinel of his last card just in time for the servants to clear the table and bring out the food. A whole fresh fish baked in salt, great rounds of bread warm from the oven and a selection of sharp and spicy salads were set before them. It was the perfect meal for such a night. Kallim stretched his legs out and reached for a plate.
As they ate, they chatted of inconsequential matters, sharing the best of the gossip from the markets and the docks. Rekia washed her food down with a glass of honeyed lemon juice, while Gedrinel and Kallim mixed their wine with water as a concession to the heat. The humidity had decreased somewhat, but despite the lively seaward breeze that made the night bearable and carried snatches of song and laughter from the neighbouring rooftops, the temperature was still unusually high.
Kallim watched the sweat forming on Gedrinel's neck where his white linen collar fell open, and imagined its taste upon his tongue. His lover would be more comfortable if he could be persuaded to dress sensibly; but he would not under any circumstances relinquish his breeches and shirt in favour of the looser southern clothes.
Rekia looked far cooler in her long gown of soft blue cotton. It occurred to Kallim that she rarely wore any other colour. He thought of the night when they had brought her from S'fayyah, her terribly wounded body wrapped in an indigo-dyed cloak, and wondered if it was coincidence.
"You said you have a new song for me?" Rekia asked, as the plates were cleared away.
"Ah, please, spare us," Kallim sighed.
"Now, Kallim, you know that Gedrinel only sings to indulge me," she said.
"Which just shows that you are a woman with most unusual tastes," Kallim retorted.
Though she herself was an unexceptional singer, Rekia adored traditional airs and shanties. Gedrinel had made it his personal business to present her with fresh material each time they returned to Umbar. Unfortunately his enthusiasm greatly outclassed the quality of his voice, which was rather more shrike than nightingale.
"You have no room to talk," Gedrinel said. "At least I can hold a tune, which is more than can be said of you."
Kallim had to concede, since this was undisputed fact. "Alas!" he sighed dramatically, "I have all the rhythm and none of the notes to go with it."
"Stick to the dancing, and you'll go far," Gedrinel said dryly.
Kallim kicked his leg under the table, but said nothing more. He picked up the cards and dealt himself a hand of solo while Gedrinel started his song. It was a typically miserable affair about a man so long at sea that he fears to lose his mind, with only the thought of his sweetheart sustaining him. He returns home to find that she has upped and married his brother, so he goes back out to sea, where, blinded by his grief, he loses his hold in the rigging and plunges to a grim death, calling out her name all the while.
Rekia was enchanted, and begged Gedrinel to sing it again so that she might begin to commit the words to memory.
"Well, that was certainly cheerful," Kallim commented, as the song came to an end for the second time. He abandoned his game - luck did not seem to be with him, and playing alone was never as much fun as a real contest - and left the cards as they lay on the table. "Don't you know any happy songs?"
"But I like the melancholy ones," Rekia said. "I imagine that the sailors, so far from their loved ones for so long, must feel dreadfully lonely at times."
Aye, when they're not howling drunk, cheating at dice, or groping each other under cover of darkness, Kallim thought. He said nothing, of course. Far be it from him to destroy Rekia's romantic illusions.
"Besides, if you want merry songs, you need Legolas to sing them to you, not me," Gedrinel was saying. "He has tunes that would put the spring back in the step of a ninety year old cripple."
"And elvish songs go on for days," Kallim added. "Legolas usually claims to have forgotten half the verses, but I'm sure it's only to spare the mere mortals among us. When did he ever really forget anything?"
Rekia smiled, her face softening as it always did when they spoke of Legolas.
"He is hoping that you will feel strong enough to make the journey north in the autumn, or maybe next spring," Gedrinel said, pouring himself another glass, more water than wine this time.
"Yes, he says as much in his letters."
"Legolas is writing Haradin now?" Kallim asked. He supposed it should come as no surprise.
"No, Meh'ten translates them for me. He makes me a fair copy, so I can read them over and again at my leisure."
"That's nice," Kallim said. It was an inadequate response, he realised, watching Rekia's manner change as she picked at a loose thread in the fabric of her robe where it stretched across her knees. Her smile faded and a haunted expression took its place. In the flickering lamplight, her face, with its tragic web of scars, looked strangely hollow.
Kallim exchanged a quick frown with Gedrinel, but they were saved from having to find words to break the silence by an unfortunate accident of timing. From one of the rooms below came a series of masculine grunts and shouts - the unmistakeable sound of a man achieving satisfaction, and too lost in his own pleasure to worry if the whole world might hear him.
Despite his anxiety about Rekia, Kallim found himself grinning. "Another happy customer," he said.
"Kallim!" Gedrinel was genuinely disapproving, but Rekia shook her head.
"You cannot deny that he is right," she said, gathering the folds of her robe and getting to her feet. "Well, Nemediyyin, I must bid you goodnight. The heat has quite exhausted me."
Gedrinel stood at once, and offered her a slight bow. "Goodnight, Rekia. Shall we play again tomorrow? You must give me the chance to take my revenge."
"Very well." She nodded graciously. "May you walk in pleasant dreams tonight."
"You're going to lose again," Kallim said, as Rekia vanished around the corner of the staircase.
"I know."
"It's strange; she almost seems to know the card before you turn it."
"I had noticed," Gedrinel said with a wry smile.
"Do you think she always had the gift, or has something of Legolas stayed with her?"
"It's hard to tell." Gedrinel frowned as he leaned forward in his chair to slap at an insect on his ankle. "She yearns to see him again, doesn't she?"
"Of course she does. But I cannot see how it is going to happen."
Zirri had already confirmed that Rekia's condition had changed little since their last visit. For all her apparent serenity and the continued healing of her external scars, she was far from well, and in the months since they had brought her to Umbar, she had not once set foot outside the house. At first, Zirri had tried to encourage her to venture out; but, faced with Rekia’s panic-stricken intransigence, she had let the matter drop.
"She will walk outside when she is ready," Zirri had told Kallim; but he knew her too well to underestimate the depth of her disquiet.
"If anyone's going to help her, it's Legolas," Kallim said, "but if she is going to visit him in the north, he will have to come and fetch her himself -" he stopped, blinked, and stared at Gedrinel, who looked thoughtful. "Would he do it, do you think?"
"Probably not this year," Gedrinel said slowly. "He has his own people's affairs to consider, after all. But maybe in the spring?"
"Imrahil would want to come with him, I have no doubt."
"Imrahil is already sufficiently concerned about Rekia's well-being. I imagine that once we tell him how things stand, he will wish to do whatever is necessary..."
"I think," Kallim said firmly, "that we have a mission to fulfil here, you and I."
Gedrinel nodded. "It will be no hardship."
"Even if she insists on taking Meh'ten with her? I cannot see her leaving him behind."
"He suffers so acutely from his guilt on her behalf. I imagine that he could do with a little elvish healing, himself."
"Perhaps," Kallim said doubtfully, considering. Maybe Gedrinel was right: if Zirri could not sort Meh'ten out, might Legolas be the one to do it? Not that the elf would employ Zirri's customary methods, of course - he spluttered into his wineglass as a disturbing image appeared, fully formed, in his mind.
Shaking his head, Kallim searched around for something to distract him from the unsettling picture. His gaze settled on the cards, still strewn across the table where he had left them. He reached across to collect them and started to shuffle, as Gedrinel watched him, a question in his eyes.
"Enough serious talk for tonight," Kallim said. "A silver piece says I can take you."
"You think so?" Gedrinel said, his eyebrows raised.
"Are you man enough to try me?"
"Do you really have to ask?"
Kallim returned his knowing grin. "Very well then; best of three." He pulled his chair up to the table, and began to deal.