At the end of the last chapter, Jarthen and Rethnaki stealthily eavesdropped on the council's urgent meeting, only to find that they were to be sent on an adventure. Meanwhile, Bertronius encountered many strange things in the Erkenheld Forest, but has made it back out again against all odds.
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“Rethnaki! Bring yer lazin’ bones over here, I needs ta talk wit' ye!” Jellihondor yelled as he rounded the corner in the elvish section of the rebel camp. Jarthen and Rethnaki had just set themselves around a campfire near their tents after returning from their clandestine observation of the council’s meeting. The elder elf moved with a purposefulness and alacrity that Jarthen had never seen in his commander: his blue eyes flashed in the dark and shone with intensity, and his mouth was sternly closed.
Rethnaki gave Jarthen a knowing look before responding in a casual tone to Jellihondor, “aye, I’m comin'.’" He lifted himself up with an exaggerated calm, while the older elf watched impatiently. Jarthen watched as the two walked off together and remained at his place by the campfire, with his mind racing. The time was coming for him to leave the forest clearing where he had spent the entirety of his experience in the rebel army. Jarthen found that he was quite apprehensive about leaving the camp: he had come to think of the great clearing in the midst of the vast Erkenheld as where he belonged. Indeed, Jarthen had felt more at home in the army camp than he had with his parents and the other humans of the Fethil...well, except for Bertronius. Though the lad did not often find himself thinking back to his time in Elothnin, when he did, he always returned to his best friend and their youthful exploits.
It is not often in the lives of humans, or even in the abnormally long life spans of elves1, that we comes across another soul who we understand so completely, and who understands us so completely, as Jarthen and Bertronius did for one another. Jarthen thought back on their friendship: the way that they always seemed to know what the other was thinking, the consonance of their interests and tastes: sometimes it was as if they were two halves of the same whole! Even though Jarthen always feared that his friendship with Bertronius was a time-limited affair -- they came from different worlds, and eventually they would both have to pursue lives in the realms to which they belonged -- he had never spoken about it with Bertronius. Perhaps, the lad thought to himself (and he dreaded to think it!) perhaps it was better that he had been wrenched away from Bertronius before they were even more painfully driven apart by nothing more than mundane social forces.
Meanwhile, Jellihondor and Rethnaki were deep in conversation on the northern edge of the camp, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the rebel soldiers. The older elf bore an expression of serious rumination on his lined face. It was clear that he had not become any less quick in his old age, simply more wise and experienced. He spoke to Rethnaki in a markedly more direct manner than was his usual habit. “Listen ta me, Naki, I’ve big news. Ta army’s leavin' this place: we’ve been found out by ta Queen, an' most o’ ta army is ta make fer ta south. I’m ta lead a handful o’ our lot north, an' yer’ ta come wit' me."
“Where are we goin’ up North?” Rethnaki asked innocently. Though he was still pretending to be ignorant of what had transpired at the council meeting, Rethnaki’s eyes shone with repressed curiosity and excitement: he was of a brave, adventurous disposition with an interest that was always piqued by the prospect of fresh exploits. “And how many o’ us are ta go?”
Jellihondor regarded Rethnaki for a moment, trying to discern whether the younger elf knew more than he was letting on and was simply a terrible liar, or if his mind was addled by pipe-weed. He stood with his hands on his hips, and shot Rethnaki a piercing gaze before answering the question. “We’re makin’ fer ta Dark Lands, by way o’ the Vinkenti Gate,” he spoke these last words very slowly and meaningfully before continuing. “I’m t'inkin’ o bringin’ twenty elves, counting ye, a few gnomes, maybe a dwarf, we’ll need a giant, Glothnafar o’course, and...” At this point, Jellihondor paused briefly and once again eyed Rethnaki skeptically. Rethnaki, realizing that his superior suspected he had somehow infiltrated the council meeting, tried to look less eager and more bored. After a moment, Jellihondor continued, “...and we'll need ta boy. Do ye t'ink he’s ready fer such a t'ing as this—ye know he’s ne’er left Elothnin; ne’er experienced such as t'ings as he’ll see in ta Dark Lands.”
Now that the vital information had been communicated, Rethnaki let the carefree facade fall away. Rethnaki looked Jellihondor in the eye and spoke seriously. “He doesn’t ha’e much choice, do he? He’ll ha’e ta be ready, and I don’ t'ink he’ll let ye down—he’s a right brave’un, I t'ink.”
“I’m glad ta hear o’ it,” Jellihondor replied. He smiled at Rethnaki as a father would upon a mischievous but favored child. “We’ll ha’e ta cross t'rough ta woods o’ ta blue elves, an' they aren’ tha' keen on us usin’ their paths tha’s fer sure. I’d like ta see if we can convince one o’ their kind from our ranks ta come wit’ us—do ye ken o’ any tha’ migh’ be willin’ ta join us?”
Rethnaki thought for a moment before answering: being a very sociable and charming even relative to his fellow red elves (if somewhat lacking in the ability to lie convincingly), Rethnaki was better acquainted with his fellow rebels than most of his comrades. “Well…there’s only a handful o’ them ta begin wit', o’ course, and most o’ 'em ha’e left those parts fer good reason an' aren’ too keen on goin’ back. There is Benno — I've heard he’s a good sort o’ fellow, an' I believe he joined up wit' us jus’ because he believes in it, an' migh’ be convinced ta come.”
Jellihondor nodded and asked Rethanki to have the elf Benno brought to him immediately. In the meantime, Jellihondor set out to find the other twenty elves that were to join him on the journey into the Dark Lands and inform them of their assignment to the battle group.
Glancing around quickly, Bertronius found a slumped-over Clemhand, snoring quietly in a chair on the edge of camp. He walked over to the sleeping form and gently nudged the spy awake. Clemhand woke with a start, “Ack! I was not sleepin’ on watch! Ye can’t prove – Oh, it’s you, boy!” Clemhand blinked in surprise.
Clemhand, snoring peacefully in a chair, dreaming of ghosties
“Yes sir. Bertronius Worthis, sir, you sent me into the forest yesterday -- ”
Bertronius was cut off quickly by Clemhand. “Yer not a ghost or nothin’, are yeh? Yeh didna fall to an untimely death, or some such, and come back to haunt me for the rest o' me days, did yeh?” Clemhand was now sitting fully upright, and had fixed Bertronius with a suspicious leer.
“Oh, no, sir! I haven’t died! I’m not even injured!” Bertonius watched to see his words’ effect.
Clemhand suspiciously regarded Bertronius a moment longer, then smiled and relaxed. “O' course yeh’vn’t. But, if it is true that yeh’ve been in that bloody forest this long, I’d bet the good Queen’s silken knickers summat interestin’s happened to ye. Help me up, boy, and we can discuss it o’er the mornin’ mush.”
Bertronius helped the spy to his feet, and said, “But, sir, how can you leave your sentry post before anyone else is awake?”
Clemhand, now stretching his legs, responded, “My shift’s endin’ anyhow. The cocks’ will start crowin’ any minute and wake this lot up. But before they do, let’s you and I get to the mess tents and be at the head of the breakfast line, shall we?”
Bertronius nodded and followed the spy back through the maze of tents.
Jarthen had quickly grown tired of waiting for Rethnaki, and as none of the other elves he was acquainted with happened to be around at the moment, he elected to take a walk towards the southern edge of the camp where the giants tended to congregate. Approaching the collection of huge circular dwellings, Jarthen detected the smell of roasting animal flesh, and could see that a number of giants were seated in a broad circle around a campfire in the midst of some seemingly important discussion. Despite their enormity, the giants were possessed of an amazing gracefulness and politeness in their gestures. They spoke eloquently and respectfully, and were never quick to anger, preferring to settle arguments through rational discussion than the use of brute force, of which they were capable of a great deal.
The giants were speaking in their own language, which had a beautiful lilting timber to it, that sounded like music to Jarthen’s ears. He paused and stood a good twenty yards away listening to their voices: he recognized both the giant who had taken part in the council’s meeting earlier that day, and Zartheim whom he had met when he had first joined the rebels. After a few moments, they appeared to reach a decision on whatever they were discussing, and the giants began to gradually disperse.
Zartheim was talking to the giant from the council meeting, but finished within a few moments. Seeing Jarthen, he headed towards the lad with a jovial smile breaking across his broad face. The eight-foot tall giant had a face that wasn’t especially handsome, but, like those of so many of his race, possessed a strangely compelling aspect to it. He had a thick mop of blonde hair and wore a great woolen tunic about his massive frame.
“Hello, Jarthen is it not?” he asked the lad in a friendly manner as he walked towards him. His voice was deep and booming, but not intimidating. Jarthen found that it was hard to believe that a creature so large and powerful could put one so at ease, with his disarming smile and affable manner.
“Uh…yeah, I’m Jarthen. You’re Zartheim, right?” Jarthen responded in an uncertain tone. Jarthen felt uneasy talking to the giant, but this was mostly because they had never really spoken before, not because of his size.
“That’s right, my good fellow—Zartheim is my name, and it is a pleasure to speak with you at last. I must apologize for not having had the opportunity to converse with you sooner—I’m sure you understand, the exigencies of an army life and so forth,” the giant replied in a friendly voice. He spoke very eloquently, with hardly any trace of an accent, and gesticulated with sweeping waves of his great, broad hands. “In any case, it is quite serendipitous that I should happen upon you just now,” he continued, giving Jarthen a gentle pat on the shoulder with his massive mitt, “you see, I am to travel with you into the Dark Lands! Our party will have to travel through the my homeland, the Brovnajian Steppes—I’m sure you’ve heard of them—and Jellihondor considered it expedient to bring along a giant to…” he paused, and appeared to choose his words carefully, “…to smooth out any disputes that might arise. We giants can be a touch territorial with outsiders.”
the eloquent and affable Zartheim
Jarthen listened excitedly with rapt attention to the giant’s words. He actually knew exceptionally little of the area north of the Dark Lands and what creatures might dwell there: it was simply a topic that wasn’t taught in West Fethil’s one-room schoolhouse, as Madame Slomp thought it inappropriate for young, fragile minds. “Wow! That’s great…maybe you can tell me a little more about where we’re going? I’ve…uh…I only just heard from Jellihondor now: I don’t know anything about what’s north of Elothnin.”
The giant gave Jarthen a friendly smile and a little chuckle before responding. “I would be more than happy to tell you about my home, but I’m afraid there is a great deal to tell, and there will be plenty of time to talk on our journey. In the meantime, we should probably both make ourselves ready. I have to prepare myself for the journey, just as I’m sure you do.” With this, the giant bid Jarthen farewell and bounded off to make himself ready. Jarthen looked around, and decided that he should do the same.
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1Mages, though they have even more abnormally long life spans, do not have friends and are thus not relevant to this topic.
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“Rethnaki! Bring yer lazin’ bones over here, I needs ta talk wit' ye!” Jellihondor yelled as he rounded the corner in the elvish section of the rebel camp. Jarthen and Rethnaki had just set themselves around a campfire near their tents after returning from their clandestine observation of the council’s meeting. The elder elf moved with a purposefulness and alacrity that Jarthen had never seen in his commander: his blue eyes flashed in the dark and shone with intensity, and his mouth was sternly closed.
Rethnaki gave Jarthen a knowing look before responding in a casual tone to Jellihondor, “aye, I’m comin'.’" He lifted himself up with an exaggerated calm, while the older elf watched impatiently. Jarthen watched as the two walked off together and remained at his place by the campfire, with his mind racing. The time was coming for him to leave the forest clearing where he had spent the entirety of his experience in the rebel army. Jarthen found that he was quite apprehensive about leaving the camp: he had come to think of the great clearing in the midst of the vast Erkenheld as where he belonged. Indeed, Jarthen had felt more at home in the army camp than he had with his parents and the other humans of the Fethil...well, except for Bertronius. Though the lad did not often find himself thinking back to his time in Elothnin, when he did, he always returned to his best friend and their youthful exploits.
It is not often in the lives of humans, or even in the abnormally long life spans of elves1, that we comes across another soul who we understand so completely, and who understands us so completely, as Jarthen and Bertronius did for one another. Jarthen thought back on their friendship: the way that they always seemed to know what the other was thinking, the consonance of their interests and tastes: sometimes it was as if they were two halves of the same whole! Even though Jarthen always feared that his friendship with Bertronius was a time-limited affair -- they came from different worlds, and eventually they would both have to pursue lives in the realms to which they belonged -- he had never spoken about it with Bertronius. Perhaps, the lad thought to himself (and he dreaded to think it!) perhaps it was better that he had been wrenched away from Bertronius before they were even more painfully driven apart by nothing more than mundane social forces.
Meanwhile, Jellihondor and Rethnaki were deep in conversation on the northern edge of the camp, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the rebel soldiers. The older elf bore an expression of serious rumination on his lined face. It was clear that he had not become any less quick in his old age, simply more wise and experienced. He spoke to Rethnaki in a markedly more direct manner than was his usual habit. “Listen ta me, Naki, I’ve big news. Ta army’s leavin' this place: we’ve been found out by ta Queen, an' most o’ ta army is ta make fer ta south. I’m ta lead a handful o’ our lot north, an' yer’ ta come wit' me."
“Where are we goin’ up North?” Rethnaki asked innocently. Though he was still pretending to be ignorant of what had transpired at the council meeting, Rethnaki’s eyes shone with repressed curiosity and excitement: he was of a brave, adventurous disposition with an interest that was always piqued by the prospect of fresh exploits. “And how many o’ us are ta go?”
Jellihondor regarded Rethnaki for a moment, trying to discern whether the younger elf knew more than he was letting on and was simply a terrible liar, or if his mind was addled by pipe-weed. He stood with his hands on his hips, and shot Rethnaki a piercing gaze before answering the question. “We’re makin’ fer ta Dark Lands, by way o’ the Vinkenti Gate,” he spoke these last words very slowly and meaningfully before continuing. “I’m t'inkin’ o bringin’ twenty elves, counting ye, a few gnomes, maybe a dwarf, we’ll need a giant, Glothnafar o’course, and...” At this point, Jellihondor paused briefly and once again eyed Rethnaki skeptically. Rethnaki, realizing that his superior suspected he had somehow infiltrated the council meeting, tried to look less eager and more bored. After a moment, Jellihondor continued, “...and we'll need ta boy. Do ye t'ink he’s ready fer such a t'ing as this—ye know he’s ne’er left Elothnin; ne’er experienced such as t'ings as he’ll see in ta Dark Lands.”
Now that the vital information had been communicated, Rethnaki let the carefree facade fall away. Rethnaki looked Jellihondor in the eye and spoke seriously. “He doesn’t ha’e much choice, do he? He’ll ha’e ta be ready, and I don’ t'ink he’ll let ye down—he’s a right brave’un, I t'ink.”
“I’m glad ta hear o’ it,” Jellihondor replied. He smiled at Rethnaki as a father would upon a mischievous but favored child. “We’ll ha’e ta cross t'rough ta woods o’ ta blue elves, an' they aren’ tha' keen on us usin’ their paths tha’s fer sure. I’d like ta see if we can convince one o’ their kind from our ranks ta come wit’ us—do ye ken o’ any tha’ migh’ be willin’ ta join us?”
Rethnaki thought for a moment before answering: being a very sociable and charming even relative to his fellow red elves (if somewhat lacking in the ability to lie convincingly), Rethnaki was better acquainted with his fellow rebels than most of his comrades. “Well…there’s only a handful o’ them ta begin wit', o’ course, and most o’ 'em ha’e left those parts fer good reason an' aren’ too keen on goin’ back. There is Benno — I've heard he’s a good sort o’ fellow, an' I believe he joined up wit' us jus’ because he believes in it, an' migh’ be convinced ta come.”
Jellihondor nodded and asked Rethanki to have the elf Benno brought to him immediately. In the meantime, Jellihondor set out to find the other twenty elves that were to join him on the journey into the Dark Lands and inform them of their assignment to the battle group.
*****
It was just after dawn, and eerily still, when Bertonius made it back to the Imperial Army. At this hour, the city of tents that spanned ahead of him was an eerie ghost town, rippling in the early morning breezes. The camp was strangely silent as well; Bertronius could hear the faint crunch of the icy morning dew on the grass as he picked his way between and around the numerous tents. A short walk later, Bertronius arrived at the spy camp; it was a cluster of 6 or so canvas tents of roughly the same cloth and make as those the infantry used, except that these tents had been dyed a rich, deep purple. Directly across from the tents, which were arranged in a semicircle around a still-smoking fire pit, was a sort of canopy shading three or four large wooden tables and thirty or so chairs. In the center camp, Bertronius saw the flag that bore the spies’ symbol: an open, staring silver eye set against a dark purple background.Glancing around quickly, Bertronius found a slumped-over Clemhand, snoring quietly in a chair on the edge of camp. He walked over to the sleeping form and gently nudged the spy awake. Clemhand woke with a start, “Ack! I was not sleepin’ on watch! Ye can’t prove – Oh, it’s you, boy!” Clemhand blinked in surprise.
Clemhand, snoring peacefully in a chair, dreaming of ghostiesBertronius was cut off quickly by Clemhand. “Yer not a ghost or nothin’, are yeh? Yeh didna fall to an untimely death, or some such, and come back to haunt me for the rest o' me days, did yeh?” Clemhand was now sitting fully upright, and had fixed Bertronius with a suspicious leer.
“Oh, no, sir! I haven’t died! I’m not even injured!” Bertonius watched to see his words’ effect.
Clemhand suspiciously regarded Bertronius a moment longer, then smiled and relaxed. “O' course yeh’vn’t. But, if it is true that yeh’ve been in that bloody forest this long, I’d bet the good Queen’s silken knickers summat interestin’s happened to ye. Help me up, boy, and we can discuss it o’er the mornin’ mush.”
Bertronius helped the spy to his feet, and said, “But, sir, how can you leave your sentry post before anyone else is awake?”
Clemhand, now stretching his legs, responded, “My shift’s endin’ anyhow. The cocks’ will start crowin’ any minute and wake this lot up. But before they do, let’s you and I get to the mess tents and be at the head of the breakfast line, shall we?”
Bertronius nodded and followed the spy back through the maze of tents.
*****
Jarthen had quickly grown tired of waiting for Rethnaki, and as none of the other elves he was acquainted with happened to be around at the moment, he elected to take a walk towards the southern edge of the camp where the giants tended to congregate. Approaching the collection of huge circular dwellings, Jarthen detected the smell of roasting animal flesh, and could see that a number of giants were seated in a broad circle around a campfire in the midst of some seemingly important discussion. Despite their enormity, the giants were possessed of an amazing gracefulness and politeness in their gestures. They spoke eloquently and respectfully, and were never quick to anger, preferring to settle arguments through rational discussion than the use of brute force, of which they were capable of a great deal.
The giants were speaking in their own language, which had a beautiful lilting timber to it, that sounded like music to Jarthen’s ears. He paused and stood a good twenty yards away listening to their voices: he recognized both the giant who had taken part in the council’s meeting earlier that day, and Zartheim whom he had met when he had first joined the rebels. After a few moments, they appeared to reach a decision on whatever they were discussing, and the giants began to gradually disperse.
Zartheim was talking to the giant from the council meeting, but finished within a few moments. Seeing Jarthen, he headed towards the lad with a jovial smile breaking across his broad face. The eight-foot tall giant had a face that wasn’t especially handsome, but, like those of so many of his race, possessed a strangely compelling aspect to it. He had a thick mop of blonde hair and wore a great woolen tunic about his massive frame.
“Hello, Jarthen is it not?” he asked the lad in a friendly manner as he walked towards him. His voice was deep and booming, but not intimidating. Jarthen found that it was hard to believe that a creature so large and powerful could put one so at ease, with his disarming smile and affable manner.
“Uh…yeah, I’m Jarthen. You’re Zartheim, right?” Jarthen responded in an uncertain tone. Jarthen felt uneasy talking to the giant, but this was mostly because they had never really spoken before, not because of his size.
“That’s right, my good fellow—Zartheim is my name, and it is a pleasure to speak with you at last. I must apologize for not having had the opportunity to converse with you sooner—I’m sure you understand, the exigencies of an army life and so forth,” the giant replied in a friendly voice. He spoke very eloquently, with hardly any trace of an accent, and gesticulated with sweeping waves of his great, broad hands. “In any case, it is quite serendipitous that I should happen upon you just now,” he continued, giving Jarthen a gentle pat on the shoulder with his massive mitt, “you see, I am to travel with you into the Dark Lands! Our party will have to travel through the my homeland, the Brovnajian Steppes—I’m sure you’ve heard of them—and Jellihondor considered it expedient to bring along a giant to…” he paused, and appeared to choose his words carefully, “…to smooth out any disputes that might arise. We giants can be a touch territorial with outsiders.”
the eloquent and affable ZartheimJarthen listened excitedly with rapt attention to the giant’s words. He actually knew exceptionally little of the area north of the Dark Lands and what creatures might dwell there: it was simply a topic that wasn’t taught in West Fethil’s one-room schoolhouse, as Madame Slomp thought it inappropriate for young, fragile minds. “Wow! That’s great…maybe you can tell me a little more about where we’re going? I’ve…uh…I only just heard from Jellihondor now: I don’t know anything about what’s north of Elothnin.”
The giant gave Jarthen a friendly smile and a little chuckle before responding. “I would be more than happy to tell you about my home, but I’m afraid there is a great deal to tell, and there will be plenty of time to talk on our journey. In the meantime, we should probably both make ourselves ready. I have to prepare myself for the journey, just as I’m sure you do.” With this, the giant bid Jarthen farewell and bounded off to make himself ready. Jarthen looked around, and decided that he should do the same.
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1Mages, though they have even more abnormally long life spans, do not have friends and are thus not relevant to this topic.
2 comments:
Seriously, if Jarthen and Bertronius fail to have at least one awkward sexual encounter before the end of the series, my heart will break. Now that Dumbledore's out of the closet, I think it will be much easier for other fantasy characters to follow suit.
Arthur encourages you to make the Jarthen-Bertronius scene not awkward but deeply passionate.
your footnote is BRILLIANT
-T
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