PART NINE: Behave
Truth and Lie: We are taught that these are extreme conditions, held so far apart in our understanding as to be the exact opposite of each other: Light and dark. Simple...or is it?
What would occur if the measuring stick between these extremes was not so ridged? What would be the result of encouraging a curve to develop, allowing each to become closer in likeness to the other? Two ends of the same piece of twine held together, not just meeting back to back like reluctant prisoners, but intertwining and knotting together until the purity of Truth could no longer be so easily extracted from the blemish of Lie; the result might be a formidable alliance...if handled well.
Alone, Truth can be so blunt as to feel like a rock in the hand, smacking the emotional jaw of its intended victim without a second thought. Isoldis had her own rock ready for Lord Mittanyaro, yet she omitted so many painful details in her necessary truth telling that she could imagine a meticulously chiselled pumice stone in hand. It still provided a smack and although Lord Mittanyaro took the news as well as could be expected, kept his pride and dignity intact and even wished the hard-to-please maiden well in the future, there was no doubt that he would be smarting for a while to come.
Of course, Isoldis hadn’t lied to Mittanyaro, what she felt was the truth, yet her version of that truth was impure, to be kinder. She disguised the heavy blow, even though it still remained a blow. But what would the maiden do when faced with Lie? So flimsy and unsubstantial in its ordinary form, Lie profited much from the endowment of a few...simple...facts. The best lies were certainly those that embedded themselves into truth like an incongruous object hidden inside a lump of ordinary clay, conspiring enough to become part of the same.
Isoldis had met Lord Anglachelm to discuss her actions, the mess she had got herself into and the subsequent rescue that Anglachelm felt forced to stage for the lady’s own protection and whilst Isoldis argued that it was actually Lord Mittanyaro that had needed the rescue, Anglachelm was insistent that her actions had led directly to his injuries.
“you could have stayed here and none of this would of happened... but you chose to leave after a damn lute.”
“I am Noldor bred...at least half of me would not give up my cause...besides, I did not ask either Mittanyaro or yourself to follow after me.”
His stare is hard, his mind closed to stray thoughts, his features seeming not the same as Isoldis remembered. Anglachelm had not changed physically, and yet he was far from the same Lord she once knew. Or perhaps it was more that a great distance now sat between them, like that ridged measuring stick between Truth and Lie.
They were squabbling over unresolved issues like children claiming possession of the same toy. A battle of wills fought upon the gentle sloping hills of Rivendell where the sun stretches their shadows in mimic of a slanted sundial. Anglachelm is the style, standing taller and more ridged as though he had forgotten how to relax. He was the rod to which Isoldis’ shadow must bend and curl accordingly. She closes her eyes and takes a breath, winding up time rather than unravelling it, the breath of Manwë sipping in recoil to create an airless vacuum where the trees cease to sway, the clouds desist in their gentle passing and Anglachelm’s hair lies motionless upon his shoulders as he cuts into the Lady with his commands.
“I demand that you to stay in the valley until further notice. Do I make myself abundantly clear my lady?”
The void of motionlessness robs Isoldis of speech.
“It is my duty to protect elvendom, even against their desires and foolishness...” Anglachelm adds almost guiltily.
“Some passions are far from foolish my Lord. Would you claim the Silmarils to be a foolish passion of Fëanor’s?”
“They were blessed jewels by Varda and all Valar knew their power.” Anglachelm retorts quickly. “Did you have the same? Why did not you tell it to us? Oh wait... what would you think if I...allow someone to follow me and they get hurt in the process because of my passion for a piece of rock or an old boot or kitchen cutlery! Stop being unreasonable!” Anglachelm’s reprove scythes the lady’s confidence by half and she sinks in shadow to become minuscule. The Lord appearing taller than ever, a ferocious pride swelling to the surface and ready to burst, yet, it remains unleashed and his gaze sucks in his surroundings in want to avoid looking at Isoldis. “I have spoken to Lord Elrond, he agrees that you should stay for a while...promise me that you will not leave again...”
“How little you know me Lord?” Isoldis half frowns with a contortion of thoughts. “Is my skin really so thick to your eyes?”
Anglachelm is taken aback.
“Look at me...and tell me that I am the enemy...” The lady grapples to tie down her meaning. “You lock the gates without need. Many things have occurred since my return. I shall not have need...or passion to go beyond the vale again...unless my ---flute--- goes missing.” Isoldis tries to lighten the mood before explaining more.
“I have been spending much time in the company of Lord Earinlin. He is helping me to reason with myself...to become a lady of Worth as he calls me.” Isoldis smiles faintly. “'He speaks much wisdom to my ears...Lord...I was rather mean a while back...to many gentile folk in these parts...I upset everyone with my spiteful tongue. I was a rage inside with no understanding of my changed feelings towards Lord Mittanyaro.” She takes a breath. “I have since told Lord Mittanyaro the truth” Isoldis thinks of the pumice stone. “I hope one day he will find a deserving match to his high honour...Lord Earinlin helped me to find the courage to do this for I was desperately unhappy about the whole thing, and I did take my unhappiness out on all others around me...so you see...I have no desire to run away again...but stay and amend the grievances many hold towards me. I must connect to my kinder side, for it has been pushed aside for the sake of burning passions.”
Anglachelm looks down upon the Lady with examining eyes as she adds in softer tones. “So....no need to lock the cage...” It's a tenuous offer.
“Promise me that you will not leave.” Anglachelm is glancing into the distance again, as though to keep eye contact with those he converses with, is to let the enemy slip in unnoticed. Alas, Isoldis sighs inwardly. Anglachelm has not been listening to the lady and his easy distrust saddens her.
“...your word is still valuable for elven ears to hear.” He adds in remedy.
“What good is my promise when you hold no worth in me?” She shakes her head in an attempt to shift her disappointment. “Actions speak louder than words, Lord; I shall prove my worth by those.” She pauses upon humbling thoughts. “I seek humility and grace. I have many apologies to make...although I cannot promise that I shan’t bite off my tongue in the process.”
“Then I shall inform the guards to keep tight and deny your passage...unless you are accompanied by many Vanimarians.” The Lord informs. “In case that your actions go mad again.”
“I was not mad the first time my Lord!” Isoldis protests, yet softens immediately as she reasons. “I was impassioned.”
“Mad with passion.” Anglachelm retorts and they are back to bickering. Both are instantly goaded to rise in temper, yet silence acts as a grateful buffer between them...and then the Lord speaks more kindly, “...besides all the madness Isoldis...it was damn great to see you alive at that stinking cave.” He makes a small noise upon an inward smile and Isoldis feels herself defenceless once again.
“...And I would have tolerated none other to find me...in such an unsanitary condition...but do not put that statement to paper, I shall not sign it.”
“So...I have your promise to stay within the vale?” Anglachelm pursues his aim obstinately.
Isoldis stares hard for a moment and the subtle tones of her voice match not. Time beats not, nor does her heart. She is solid stone, but her words are as sticky as clay. “You do...my Lord.” She cracks her neck to bow her head in acquiesce and hide her eyes under heavy lids. Conversely, Anglachelm is buoyant upon their hard haggled agreement and rouses in a spirit of satisfaction. Glorious in his victory, he bids the lady good day with charming grace before turning to leave.
The vacuum is immediately torn open and the world floods back in to soak the hillside with life once more. The trees rustle loudly, Isoldis feels the cool breeze kiss her face and she watches Anglachelm disappear along the path until he is no more, chewing her bottom lip upon the sweet torment of her oh-so deliberate lie.
