Seregrían returns to the House of the Lore-masters next day at the same hour, this time wearing her new acolyte’s brooch prominently on the collar of her dress. There is a spring to her step, and she hums tunelessly in her barely-contained joy. She, the youngest member of the Gwaith-en-Gelydh! Her parents are proud and happy for her, but as she approaches the House, she masters her glee and puts on a serious face as she enters the foyer, the door wards seeing the brooch and nodding in welcome. She passes into the Fountain Terrace, only to find Mistress Gwathnim in the foyer chamber as if waiting for her arrival.
“Good day to you, young Seregrían, punctual as ever,” Gwathnim says by way of greeting. “Though I bade you come at this hour, I regret that other business shall take me away for a short time. I would ask you to await me in the Fountain Terrace until I return.” Gwathnim shows her the doorway to the garden, and Seregrían passes through, down the path and onto the terrace. It looks much as it did the previous day, the waters of the fountain playing in the afternoon light – until she realized she was not alone. Someone was seated at the same bench where she sat yesterday during Gwathnim’s testing of her, a young ellon with his back to the pathway, his face not to be seen.
“Your pardon,” Seregrían says, “I do not mean to intrude, but Mistress Gwathnim bade me wait for her here.” The young elf-lad rises and turns to face her – and she freezes in utter shock and revulsion at the face and voice she knows.
“Well, well, Seregrían, the Bloody Elf, here inside these walls!” Maribar sneers. “So that means one of two things has happened: either the Gwaith-en-Gelydh has lowered its entrance standards to allow you here, or you lied to be acceptable among polite company. Truly, I know not which is the worse folly.” Seregrían begins to tremble with barely-checked rage, her fingers bending into claws at her sides, her feet planting wide apart as if to spring, her nostrils flaring.
“…You…” she snarls, “and what shall we say of you, faint-heart? Jests and mockery are hardly admissible in halls where wisdom and lore are prized – unless perhaps your high-born parentage is your coin at the door!”
“At least my coin and value are acceptable, as yours are hardly worth mention – keep back, you, or I shall call the wardens!”
“There are no chairs to hide behind today, spawn of kinslayers – there’s no one here to tear me off of you this time – but you needn’t fear, not today. Do you honestly think I am going to begin a brawl, here in these halls? I will not allow you to spoil this day, nor any day after this!”
“So you really think you’re part of the Gelydh!? What a laughable idea! My kin are the only ones worthy of acceptance, even as the House was founded by them, and for them! As if they’d accept a street-brawling Sindar, the very thought is repellent!”
“Ah yes, as opposed to a fop whose only virtue – if it’s called that – is his parents’ patronage to the House! I know all about that, everyone does, because you bragged about it yourself! As if you think you can purchase a seat in the Lore-chambers, you simpering fool!”
“Says the fool who thinks she is worthy of the wisdoms out of the Uttermost West, written by my folk in the light when your folk were still stumbling about in the dark beneath the trees! Go back to the forest, bloody-brains, and use your hair for your garments! The Gwaith-en-Gelydh is not for the likes of you!”
“Ahhh, now I see! Oh, clever people, the Gelydh! This is another test – they brought you here to get me enraged enough to see my reactions. Oh, this makes perfect logic! Yes, they would know of our mutual hate and put you here to see how I master my passions. I’ve reasoned it out, all of you listening,” Seregrían shouts at the air, turning in a circle, “you should have realized I would see through this – there is no way Maribar could be an acolyte, that was the clue!”
“I don’t think you realize what you’re doing,” Maribar says, his voice dripping with scorn. “I am most definitely an acolyte, the youngest in memory, so I’ve been told.” He points at the collar of his tunic, where the acolyte’s brooch rests.
“And a nice decoration it is, too,” Seregrían replies, “a part of the costume to make it believable. But it is not,” she shouts at the air again, “I see through it!”
“Your stupidity shines brighter than your anger, you foundling fool, and will be your ruin!”
“And your contempt for anyone not of your precious bloodline will be yours. You and yours, hiding on this island, feeling safe enough to scorn the rest of us – where on the mainland, your tongue is unheard and unspoken. You think to be the arbiter of all lore and light, whose only authority is an accident of birth!?”
“I have heard enough for one hour, let alone the day,” comes Gwathnim’s voice from the path. The elf-woman walks slowly into the terrace, both Seregrían and Maribar bowing their heads in respect. Gwathnim’s voice is low, even and steady, and more dreadful than any scream could be.
“I have heard both of you, now you shall hear me. The two youngest acolytes I have entertained in more than five-score summers are ready to do battle, literally and figuratively, in my halls. I shall not permit it.
“It appears that both of you have laid out the case for the others’ dismissal and left if for me to judge. Maribar, the matter of your slanderous words about Seregrían and her parents was a tale I was not prepared to believe until now. And I also see the truth about your boasting that your family’s patronage would assure you a place here. I see the truth, and it repels me.”
As she speaks the word repel, her fingers reach to tighten on Maribar’s brooch as she rips it from his collar. Maribar’s eyes widen in shock and realization. “And what of her, shall I not see her be punished as well?”
“You have my leave,” Gwathnim says frostily. Maribar departs without a word or a backward glance. Once he is out of sight, she slowly turns toward Seregrían, her face impassive, her voice still cold, but a different note can be heard – one of uncomfortable shame.
“I suppose thanks are due you, young one. You uncovered a bitter truth I needed to face. Your argument about patronage is all too meaningful. I must confess to you now, that Maribar’s admission to the Gelydh was indeed due to family connection, but more than simply patronage. Maribar… is my brother’s son.”
Seregrían is well and truly shocked by this. “My lady, this is the first time I regret being right about my deductions; because this time, my being right has clearly caused you pain. And now, knowing I saw through the test you laid out gives me no pleasure, because I was not able to master my anger at Maribar.”
“What are you talking about, child? There was no test.”
“Wha – but it was – and he was – this wasn’t a test!?”
“Not in the least. I bade you both be here at the same hour, because I was intending to introduce you both to the High Table, my counselors. I truly did get called away, and bade you join Maribar here to await my return. I realized my error too late and came back – only to hear all of your shouts. Walk with me again, Seregrían,” and the two elves began to repeat the slow stroll around the fountain, as they had done before on Seregrían’s last visit.
“I had heard rumor of the animosity between you two; that was in great part why I spoke with you privately over the last few days. I wished to see you for myself, with my own eyes, and not rely on gossip to decide. And I see a young elleth with exemplary studies, a deductive mind, and a thirst and need to learn new things, always testing and trying them for herself.
“What has just happened was not a test, but rather it was chance, if chance we can call it. Maribar unwittingly stepped in a trap of his own making, for he sought to anger you enough to ruin your acceptance. Instead, he confirmed all that has been related to me regarding his contempt of any Elf not of pure Noldorin blood.”
“Then what he said – that the Lore-masters would only accept those of Noldorin blood – it’s true?”
“Nonsense. Two of my five at High Table are of the Sindar – one of them of the Falathrim, a survivor of Eglarest same as you, I think. Seregrían, understand this,” Gwathnim said as she paused and faced the elf-maid. “I am personally ashamed for the revelations I have heard this day. Maribar’s actions are shameful, and diminish himself and his House – and that, you know, includes me. And I crave your pardon. I, too, am one of those who ‘hide on this island’, and ‘feel safe enough to scorn’. But I am Mistress of the Gelydh, I am charged with the preservation of the lore of our kin – and that includes the Noldor, the Sindar, the Nandor, and all those who call themselves Elves. And that includes you, child with the wayward heritage.
“You shall keep your acolyte’s brooch, Seregrían. Few of greater age and none of younger are more deserving. You unknowingly uncovered a grave error, and I thank you.”
“But My Lady, why do I feel no joy now in this brooch? Despite my anger, despite my own scorn for your kin in my turn – I feel as sullied as anyone.”
“The difference lies in places that you and I shall discover, young Seregrían. We shall explore the reasons together, I think. Wisdom is a room with a door: open it and enter the room, and you will find three more doors. The next door is yours to choose.”
Seregrían takes her leave of Gwathnim and walks home, promising to return in two day’s time; until then, she is to reflect upon the unintended lessons of this day. On the walk home, she runs her fingers across the acolyte’s brooch, hers to keep for another day. And today, she resolves that every day, she shall earn it again.
Next Chapter: Blood-queen and Bright-hope
