Ravenshade

by C S Marks

  “Both realms had long and colorful histories, but I will give only those facts necessary to the present tale, as my task tonight is a darker one. I must tell you of how they came to ruin, and why.” Here, Fima paused and drew a deep breath. “There are dark sentiments buried in each of us that have the ability, in the right circumstance, to turn us from reason, from love, and from light. This is how wars often begin…with feelings of pride, envy, and self-doubt. Not even the most revered of teachers could instruct the people well enough to prevent it.

  “Eádros had, in her service, the Asarla Cuimir the Beautiful. He served the Elves of Eádros for thousands of years, instructing and enlightening them, resulting in some of the greatest works of beauty ever seen. His gift was in the appreciation and creation of beauty. Because of his influence, the Elves of Eádros were the finest poets, singers, and artisans in all the world. Majestic, perfect sculptures towered above their Great Halls, interwoven with living trees and plants shaped by loving hands. Their fountains were as sparkling diamonds, their gardens a living paradise. They displayed the incredible beauty of natural light by arranging crystals and stones and water…my heart aches that I have never seen it.” Fima looked over at Galador, who had seen the glory of Eádros, and bowed his head in respect. Galador returned the gesture, his eyes misted with the memory of what he had once beheld.

  “The City of Rûmm was only a few days’ march away, and if it was perhaps not as beautiful, it was no less grand. The Elves enhanced it, once the alliance was formed between the two peoples, and the caverns and halls there were vast and deep, with crystals and carvings and massive pillars of stone. All manner of precious metals could be found there, and the Dwarves wasted no time in fashioning the finest armor and weapons, beautiful vessels, and settings for the rare gems gleaned from within the rock. Elves are best with trees and living things, but no one bests a Dwarf when it comes to the art of the forge. Even Lady Ordath will admit it.” Fima raised his eyebrows and looked around the courtyard as though inviting anyone to disagree with him. Naturally, no one did.

  “At any rate, both peoples assisted in the enhancement of both dwelling-places, and soon there were underground tunnels and secret pathways connecting Eádros and Rûmm, for each had vowed to come to the defense of the other should need arise. There grew a great friendship— perhaps the first time that Elves and Dwarves at least gave the appearance of real trust—which lasted until the present tale, when it was torn apart and underlying feelings were laid bare. For even though the friendship seemed real enough, there lay beneath it pride, arrogance, suspicion, and doubt. Cuimir tried to teach his people what real beauty is, but he could not warn them of the ugliness of their own emotions. Nor could all the patient study of the most learned of Dwarves guard against the fury that arises from a heart that believes it has been betrayed.

  “At the time of this tale, the Lord of Rûmm was named Ivar, the Wise. His eldest son and heir was also named Ivar, for it is Dwarvish custom that heirs be named for their sires, but they are not known by that name until they assume leadership. Therefore, the son was called ‘Varni.’ Varni was born with a deformity that robbed him of strength and use of his right arm, but his left was clever and skilled. In such an enlightened realm, he endured no open scorn, yet he could see the fleeting looks of pity, and within his heart he doubted his own worth. A very kind and sensitive soul, he delighted in learning and in the making of poems and songs. He had a fine singing voice and he could paint marvelous pictures. He soon attracted the attention of Cuimir the Asarla, who took special delight in instructing him.

  “It was decided that a great mural would be painted in the Hall of Council of each realm depicting the friendship between them. Each would be done by a chosen artisan from the other, and, naturally, Varni was asked to paint the great mural in the Hall of Eádros. He agreed, because he loved the lights and waters of that realm, and he loved also the fair voices and faces of the tall, beautiful Elves…perhaps a bit too much in his father’s opinion.

  “In fact, Lord Ivar was troubled, because he had seen the looks of veiled disdain on the faces of some of the Elves, and even upon some of his own people. He carried some mistrust in his heart even then. Yet because Cuimir himself had made the request that Varni be chosen, Ivar did not oppose his son’s wishes, though it meant that he would see very little of Varni for many months to come.

  “Varni designed a beautiful piece that would cover not only the enormous wall of the Elves’ Great Hall, but also a large expanse of ceiling, for he wanted to depict the coming of Cuimir, who was said to have descended from the heavens. He went to work straightaway, assisted by the Elves, who brought him any and all material that he desired. The affairs of the Council were held in another place while the work was being done so that Varni could paint whenever he wished, hence he rarely left the magnificent Hall with its wonderful, vaulted roof. It was open to the outside world, yet it was so cunningly planned that tall, stately trees sheltered it from all but the hardest rains, and when these fell they were collected in suspended vessels of marble that directed them into fountains and pools below. It was a wondrous realm.”

  Fima paused again, as he truly loved works of beauty and clever design. He looked around at his audience, waiting for the mental picture his words had described to be painted in their imaginations before he continued.

  “One of those who assisted Varni, a maiden named Miradyth, was the sister-daughter of King Doniol of Eádros. She had shown some promise as an artisan, and because her skills paled before those of Varni, she desired to work beside him that she might learn from him. When she saw how truly gifted he was, Miradyth spent untold hours in his presence. She discovered that he was well worth knowing, even aside from his talent, for he was kind and gentle, with a ready sense of humor and something of a knack for story-telling.”

  Gaelen, who sat quietly between Rogond and Nelwyn, now formed a picture of Varni that resembled Fima, who shared these qualities. For the remainder of the tale, Varni was Fima in her mind.

  “One day, Miradyth noticed that Varni’s left hand was bleeding, for he had cut himself while trimming one of his paintbrushes. She offered to tend him, binding the wound with a beautiful square of silk that she had taken from around her neck. She never imagined the depth of sorrow that would be unleashed by this simple act of friendship and respect, for Varni mistook her intention, and in his heart he desired her. Long had he admired her from his perch upon the scaffolding, and long had he thrilled at the sound of her voice as she greeted him each day. But now a deeper desire swelled within him, for he thought she loved him as more than friend. Had she not given her lovely scarf to bind his wounded hand? Varni knew the scarf was valuable, yet Miradyth had ruined it with blood and paint only to comfort him. Therefore, she must love him.

  “In truth, she did love Varni’s talent, and his funny ways that were so unlike the other Dwarves she had known, but she did not desire him. One could not blame her, as she was simply incapable. Varni had been enamored of the Elves’ beauty and, as his father had feared, he desired always to be more like them. But although they respected his talent and allowed him to dwell among them, he would never attain equal status in their eyes. It seemed that, as with many folk, they confused physical beauty with true worth.” Fima saw several heads shaking slowly among the listeners, and he smiled. Despite their denial, they would probably have shared Miradyth’s feelings had they shared her place. There were very few statues or paintings of stunted, unlovely folk in Dûn Arian.

  “Varni kept his feelings hidden for a time, and he poured his troubled heart into his work. The paintings of the maidens done during this time were hauntingly beautiful, and they all bore resemblance to Miradyth. She could not help but notice, and she was ill-at-ease. She stopped spending so much time with him, turning back to other pursuits, much to the relief of certain of the Elves, particularly her elder brother, Arad. He had long questioned Varni’s motives, as well as the wisdom of his sister’s ‘unhealthy’ attachmen
t. Varni, of course, did not understand Miradyth’s actions, and he was dismayed, going at last in search of her. He wanted to reveal his heart’s desire.”

  If Fima had attempted at this point to interrupt the tale, he would have been thrown down and sat upon until he finished it. Hundreds of eager eyes were upon him, and a throng of expectant hearts awaited his next words. One unfortunate man was taken with a small bout of coughing, and he received an elbow in the ribs from his neighbor. There was hardly a sound to be heard.

  “Varni was very well-spoken, but he was, as I’m sure you can imagine, reluctant and bashful as he confronted his beloved. He stammered out his love for her in a way that, had she loved him, would have been most endearing. Yet to Miradyth it was cause for grief, for she knew that her fears were real and that she must now break his heart. So, to save herself the pain of revealing her true feelings, she told him that he would need to seek permission to court her from King Doniol, knowing full well that it would never be given. She did not possess the courage to trample his feelings by telling him the truth—instead she filled him with false hope. He vowed to go at once to Doniol that he might receive his blessing.

  “First he went home to the court at Rûmm, there to confer with his father, Lord Ivar, and tell him of his plan. Ivar was dismayed, believing his son’s request ill-advised. He did not approve of intermarriage between Elves and Dwarves. Such a thing had not been seen before, and has not been since, at least not to my knowledge. When Ivar saw the depths of the devotion to Miradyth in his son’s eyes, he relented, but he told Varni that he could never assume the Lordship of Rûmm should he marry her. ‘The line of the Lords of Rûmm must remain pure,’ he said. ‘No Elf may influence it. Such was the decree of Fior, the Maker, and such it must be.’

  “Varni agreed—he had never truly desired the Lordship of Rûmm—and Ivar was grieved, though his line would not fail, for he had many sons. He had hoped to prevent Varni from a course that would most likely result in a broken heart, and yet in the back of his mind he wondered, for if Doniol actually granted permission for Varni and Miradyth to marry, it would greatly increase the Dwarves’ influence in the Elven-realm. In addition, she would no doubt bring a fabulous dowry. Perhaps it would be better to wait and see whether some good could come of it. Ivar had forgotten that nothing good ever comes from greed.

  “Varni went before the King and asked for a private council. Doniol was not without foreknowledge of Varni’s intention, for Arad, Miradyth’s brother, had been in council with him already. As Varni stammered out his request, the expression on the face of the King was kindly, but stern. No blessing would be given—not now nor ever in the future. Surely, Varni must have known this. But then, Varni posed a question that would ultimately result in the strife to follow. He asked the King ‘Why?’

  “At first, Doniol did not know how to respond. He considered for a moment, and then directed Varni to stand before the tall glass that stood in one corner of his private chamber. He bade Varni look upon himself. Did he truly believe he was worthy to wed one such as Miradyth? Surely, he must now realize that such a thing could never be. Miradyth could not possibly love him, in fact she did not love him. He should now go back to his own people and be content to live among them without vain aspirations. The sooner he realized that the Elves were above and beyond his affections, the happier he would be.”

  At this, Gaelen clenched both of her fists in indignation, for she loved Fima and could not imagine ever saying such a thing to him, even if he was short, bearded, and mortal.

  “Varni was a gentle soul, but he was also the son of a Lord of Dwarves, and his heart burned fierce in that moment. He had never considered his people to be of lesser worth, and it was now apparent that the Elves did so. He wanted to tell the King of his indignation, to remind him that without the skill of Dwarves, Eádros would not have attained such greatness, but he was silent. Doniol tried to exact the promise that Varni would henceforth keep his distance from Miradyth, and he offered Varni a great reward of riches should he do so. Varni simply stood before the King in shock and anger…did Doniol truly believe that his heart could be turned from true love with jewels and gold? He did not make any promise, but turned and fled from the chamber before Doniol could stay him. He ran from the Elven-realm, tears of shame, indignation, and betrayal burning in his eyes, for he had truly loved the Elves, and had not yet seen their nature. I suppose one cannot blame them entirely, for although they had concealed their disdain out of courtesy, they had not actually denied it.

  “Word reached Lord Ivar that his son’s request, as expected, had been denied, and that he had fled from Eádros. His whereabouts were unknown, and though the Dwarves searched for him, they did not find him. Doniol aided them, though his response was half-hearted in Ivar’s opinion. He sent only a few Elves, and called them back quickly. Ivar himself went to stand before Doniol, requesting an accounting of recent events.

  “Doniol responded predictably, at first trying to veil the truth, but Ivar would not be deceived. He demanded to know what had been said to his son that had so dismayed him that he would run and hide from his own people.

  “When he heard the words from Doniol, and saw the contempt in his eyes, Ivar was angered. If this was the real nature of a friendship with Elves, he would spend no more time in maintaining it. His people were not inferior; they were in many ways more worthy than the Elves, who should certainly be aware of the fact. All of his doubts concerning lack of respect of the Elves for him—for his race—were confirmed. He told Doniol that he had been against the union of Varni and Miradyth from the beginning, but that he had held these feelings back because he knew that he would wound the Elves’ feelings otherwise. Well, no longer!”

  Fima shook his head as he looked at the dismayed faces in the crowd. “The bad feeling on both sides of the argument spread like fire upon oil, and by the time it reached the high places of Eádros and the deeps of Rûmm it had been altered, augmented, and enhanced. Mistrust and doubt ruled the hearts of the people for the first time in many an Age. Yet the situation might have been saved…had Varni not chosen that moment to try one last time to win Miradyth’s heart. He knew the secret ways of Eádros better than many of the Elves, and he also knew where Miradyth would likely be found.

  “She was grieved at what her words had wrought, and she sat in despair as she looked upon Varni’s unfinished work, wondering whether one capable of creating such beauty should ever feel scorn—hers or anyone else’s. She had a good heart, but she simply could not look beyond Varni’s appearance, and therefore when he found her and declared once more the depth of his love, she turned away.

  “He begged her to come away with him, for he would spend no more time living in a world where he was apart from her. She told him that she could not leave her family, or her beautiful home, and that he must forget his love for her. Varni did not hear her, thinking that she was only afraid to leave the realm, telling her that all would be well, that he would protect her. She stared at him—this stunted, one-armed, unlovely being whose heart was so guileless—and finally spoke the words that she had been afraid to speak. She told Varni that he was incapable of protecting her, that she did not love him, and that he was a fool. She did not mean this last, but she wanted to so dismay him that he would turn from her.

  “In Varni’s mind, Miradyth had been poisoned by the words of her uncle the King, and by her brother Arad. He decided to try to take Miradyth away with him against her will, knowing that if he could only talk with her and convince her, her love for him would return. Surely, he had seen it! Why would she have sent him to stand before Doniol, if it were not so? Now her heart had been turned, and he must try to turn it back, for he believed that he could not live without her. He reached out with his one good hand, grasped her arm, and would not release her. Varni’s left hand and arm were very strong, stronger than Miradyth, and she could not pull free of him. It frightened her, and she struggled, crying out in dismay.

  “At that moment, Arad
heard his sister’s cries and ran into the Hall. He saw Miradyth struggling to break free of Varni and, thinking she was being attacked, he leaped in to aid her, wresting Varni from her and throwing him to the ground.

  “Varni was enraged and attacked Arad, for he had nothing further to risk, and they fought fiercely for a few moments. When all was ended, both were wounded, but Arad had prevailed—he was larger, had two good hands, and he despised this Dwarf who had dared lay hands upon his sister.

  “Varni’s wounds were not mortal and, had his people tended him, he would have lived, but his mind and heart were broken. He struggled up the tall scaffolding, took red paint, and covered the images of Miradyth. ‘Here is my blood, which I give at last to you. Take it, my love, and be content!’ he cried. Then he turned a blade upon himself, falling down upon the heads of the Elves who had by this time flooded into the Hall.

  “There were tears in the eyes of many who witnessed Varni’s fall, for most Elves are not cruel people. Yet they were horrified by his loss of reason, and they could not imagine what they would say to Lord Ivar. King Doniol was told of what had happened by Arad, who naturally put forth only his own viewpoint—Varni obviously intended to harm Miradyth and take her by force. He deserved all that he received, and Doniol was owed an apology for the insult upon his family. Miradyth was shamed and grieved, but she said nothing in defense of Varni…nothing to mollify the King. She might keep the respect of her people if they believed she was being attacked without reason.