“To answer these, and all questions you have," Seregrían began, "requires thought and lore. I do not deem it mere chance we encountered each other, especially following hard on your discovery. Fate may be walking with you. Now tell me this: the name of your birth, Sari Mora? What is its meaning, in your mother's tongue?”
Eira shrugged. “The Nurnhoth tongue is a blending of Westron, Haradrim, and Black Speech. The name Mosa was just another name of the many slaves in that land. Sari was a naming after Sara. Similar to how Aglarari was named after Aglarzôr.”
“And I tell you this: Sari Mora has roots in the Elven-tongue as well. Sari is a wearing-down from 'sarn', meaning stone. Mora is still recognizable as 'mor', for black. You are the Black Stone - another name for the gemstone obsidian: formed in fire, a stone so black it reflects back light in indigo highlights. Somewhere in your mother's memory, the song of the Eldar remained; for once the Elven-tongue is heard, a mortal ear never ever forgets.”
“Are you saying my mother somehow met an Elf!? When she lived in Nurn, then Gorgoroth, then Nurn again her whole life?"
“Say rather that somewhere she heard the Elven-tongue - forbidden to be spoken aloud, but she heard it all the same. And so, in part, did you. For the thought of malice and cruelty without purpose or need met your heart's rebuff.”
“Then... what does that say about me?”
“I would think it this way,” Seregrían said, “your father's ancient heritage, skipping many lines through the ages, resurfaced in you. You are not of the Moredain, not truly. Your spirit and heart are more Dúnedain - and I deem he now knows it. Why else would you fly to the West, seeking light after shadow?”
Eira blinked, thinking deeply on this, "I had never thought to trace my roots to the Dúnedain. The Faithful and King's Men were different kinds, and the Faithful were weak in the eyes of my father.”
“And yet, the Faithful survived.”
“My father still counted them weak. Why else would Arnor fall? Why else did Gondor's blood become muddied with what they called lesser men? Though, my blood itself it split. I am as much Nurnhoth as I am Númenorean.”
“And yet Gondor prospered, and recalled somewhat of the glories of Númenor before the Downfall. Arnor fell, and Gondor weakened, because of pride - the same pride that brought the Downfall - the same pride that the Moredain embrace to this day, having ignored the lessons of the past.”
Eira nodded slowly, a student soaking up the words of a teacher. ”And I wanted to run away from the Moredain. Yet, now it still seems impossible. I tried to learn to fly, but my wings are repeatedly clipped.”
“Say not so,” Seregrían said, “say more that you are not clipped, but trammeled. Overborne by the weight of the past, and the fear close behind.”
Tears started to appear. "I fear for more than me now, but for the people I have come to love in Bree."
“If this spy from the Black Land spoke truly, then there is nothing you might do to stop them - they will come no matter how far or where you run. Someone as cruel and malicious as this lord Aglarzôr will not be merely satisfied with finding and returning you - he will crush anyone who would have helped you, sheltered you. To punish you, he would harm them and make you watch with guilt. Such is the way of the Moredain.''
Eira shuddered, despair looming over like a heavy blanket. “Then what can I do to stop it? I can burn, but not them!”
“I tell you all this, Black Stone,” Seregrían said, “not to feed your despair. Rather for you to be armed against what follows you; to know what they are capable of doing. Remember your father's first lesson: ‘Be fierce to your enemies, and show no mercy?’”
Eira looked up, a tear slipping down her cheek. She remembered how she brutally mangled Kalabnalu when he entered the inn. Aglarari was still alive and burning within her, and now she was scared. "Aglarari..."
“Know this: each of your names reflects a facet of the gem that is you,” Seregrían said. “Sari Mora; Aglarari; Tacita; Eira - they are all you.”
“Black stone, glorious queen, silence, snow.”
“And above them all shines you.” Seregrían closed her eyes briefly, as if in rapt thought. When she opened them again, Eira saw eyes of a silver sheen.
“There is more at work here than chance. Our meeting was not chance at all. For this I shall share with you. You seek to flee from the Black Land; I seek to enter it. You run from one of its nobles; I hunt one of them. We should both be giving thanks to Elbereth, you and I. You, for your path being guided here; me, for finding a guide for my path.”
Eira's eyes widened, a whisper of shock escaping her lips, "Why? Why would anyone dare enter those lands? And you wish for a guide!?"
“Yes. We can guide each other. I might share my lore and history with you, to help you find your truth. You, in turn, can give me the lore I need to complete that which I must do.”
"And what do you wish to accomplish in a land like that? There is nothing but shadow, and spite, and hatred there."
“All that is true. But for me, there is also... hope, for redemption.”
Eira blinks, confused; yet everything that has happened, her friends now, and what Seregrían has told her of has given her a new perspective. “Demlemoth encouraged be to bury my past. Sari should die, and especially Aglarari should die. Yet, you tell me to embrace them, and return them to life. And I... I believe I can do that.”
“You might bury them, true,” Seregrían said, “but what of the day when they need to rise again? Better to keep them above ground, where they can be watched. Some counsel you to choose one and stay there - and bury the others. I say to you, why not be the best of each one?''
"Eira still grew up in Emyn Uial, and she still is the blonde woman with freckles you see here. But, I think the names of Sari and Aglarari can shine beneath that name as well. If Aglarzôr comes to war, Aglarari will answer.” Her face shone with a new emotion. "I feel... free... I have caged myself like a bird. The timid Nurnhoth slave ran away when Aglarzôr came for me. If I do agree to help you, if I do agree to guide you to Mordor, I ask: can I still stay here, with my friends, when I am not needed? I want to return home.”
“I never said I would ask you to guide me to Mordor,” Seregrían said, “only to tell me what to look for and toward. Never would I ask you to go back and cancel all your labors up to now.”
Eira's eyes lit up in understanding. She nodded, leaning in with eagerness, "Aye. I can do that."
“And of course, your friends will be here for you,” Seregrían said, “and you for them. For if they are your friends, they are also in peril - and they will need your watchfulness. And now, since I am also your friend, you shall have my vigilance as well.”
Eira nodded, clarity and purpose written on her face. She stood and said, "Then I will return to them. But I will not forget my promise to you. Would you like to speak in the Huntsman and the Stag? Or the Prancing Pony, when you wish?
Seregrían considered this. “I have yet to visit the Stag - I think that would be a promising idea.”
Eira smiled a small, sweet smile. "That would be wonderful. It is by the Greenway, close to the lake of the Wildwood, farmlands." Eira then looked to the elf and smiled, "Thank you."
Seregrían smiled in turn, “The edge of the Wild. All manner of things may happen there. Hannon le, mellon nin'
For the first time, Eira did not meet Sindarin with confusion, but with delight. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her mask, placing it over her face. "I shall see you then, my new friend."
“Indeed,” Seregrían said. “Until next time, Black Stone.”
