"Donindor's Sabbatical" | Donindor, Nob

Written by The FluffyRabbitofGondor

Donindor looked over the lake, as the sun was setting. He looked north; through green, stoney mountains covered in the woods he knew so well. Dark places where light came in and invoked memories of a myriad of different places contained in the same space; for on each solid mountain rock there was a thousand years of changing forests, fields, bogs and farms. Tame lands become wild and wild lands became tame over time, and in every sapling Donindor saw the stump of an ancient tree, felled by wind, fire, lightning or men.
The sunset made him melancholy; to be still and look at a place he knew down to the bone, deep beyond it’s skin… it was an intimacy that chilled and stilled his breath.
He was expected somewhere. He turned around, and walked into his shadow toward the southern woods. It rolled down the hillock into a deep valley covered in many miles of shrubby trees; Rhododendrons, hornbeams, locusts and grey-beaches. He entered the deep conglomeration and was enshrouded by their exaggerated silhouettes. Sometimes he would whistle something cheery, then stop and listen to the silence, as if to give the music time to be absorbed into the forest fully.
He wound his way through many mysterious paths that only a deer could follow. And many deer and elk there he saw--the kind which knew The Way--and he also the Faye creatures; their light twinkling behind the trees. And yet he still felt alone. For Faye never say much besides what you are already thinking.
To The Door he came, and knocked. It was covered in vines which made a kind of tunnel, and he had to stoop to access it. By now the moon was shining down upon him. As the door opened, it glinted on the nob. And Nob it was who opened the door; a Great Gnome. He smiled at Donindor with a joyful, honest face, and without speaking brought him in. “Your beard is not as long as it once was, Donny.” the Gnome remarked.
“And your’s looks whiter than I remember.” Donindor replied.
“It’s the winter. I’ve been painting snow again.” He smiled.
“Well. Have you anything to eat?”
“Of course!” He gestured to a low table laid with a strong tea, and what you would call a biscuit for its texture and a loaf of bread for its size. They ate and drank for a time, saying little. The fire roared warm, and the sensation was as pleasant to them as the cold moon-beams which came through the skylight.
Donindor began, and Nob sat back to listen carefully.
“I have been killed--as they say--for the first time in over two hundred years. We were betrayed by our own.”
Nob nodded. “Ones you wanted to give a chance?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.”
“There were two children with us--”
“Now Donindor, this is not the first time children have been caught up in a situation no-one could fix. I’m sure you did your best to make sure they were safe.”
“I put a force-shield around one of them. It was Elyon’s doing; I did not sustain it of my own power. It seemed to dissipate however. I don’t know… I’m simply confused. We were tending to the bodies of the dead… it was the black mist.”
Nob’s face grew cold; fear and remembered remorse entered the room.
“There were great piles of gold-dust. They must have killed several hundred villagers already before we arrived. Dronin blow it up. Helm was drinking the stuff. I was going to cut off his arm…”
“The young-ones don’t always see death the way we do. But no, it’s not only men. Even Baelgwyn acts used to it now. His face after the Broostwater takeover was so… complacent. And sometimes, Donindor, I worry about you too.”
Donindor’s face grew grim and sad, his left hand on his eyes. “We vowed to sorrow over every death as well as value every life… and in the beginning, it was easy. It was so easy to grieve. Now it is as if… as if to grieve is pointless. As if death is more common than life… and the lives of Beakerson, Jay, Eragon, Pierre, Daikid; I toyed with them. I knew the mission was dangerous. Even though I told them so, I didn’t make them understand. And I let us get blown up.”
“Ho!” the Gnome laughed. “Good luck making younglings understand anything.”
“But they might. I could have tried harder.”
“Donny. It’s a war. We see it as more than that, but that’s still what it is. Heh,you and I are more poets than soldiers; we were thrown into this because of our abilities… Hmm. You remember how we were trained to accept that if the younglings help us, it’s their risk, and if death or injury comes, it was their decision.”
“Injury or death--” Donindor murmured “I haven’t gotten the full report from Head. But I know that at least half a dozen made it here through the regeneration gems. I don’t know what happened to the others. How many may have died. I haven’t made contact with any of them yet.”
The ensuing silence was soon filled by a ticking clock.
“Donindor; I know this wasn’t your fault, but you understand what this means.”
“It was my fault. And yes, I do. It was explained to me. Which is why I’m talking to you. I’ll use my little break to get my head back into things.”
“They say you started hearing things that weren’t there. Hallucinating. That’s what the Healer-General said.”
“Yes… My fire is growing dim, Nob. Half of me wants jump right back into things. Defeat Pale once and for all. Track down these Hooded Bards. But the more I think about it, the more I wish… the more I wish I had not been born a Guardian in the first place. These humans--and elves for that matter--their candle remains lit until a strong wind blows, and then, suddenly, their short life ends and they are given answers, and shelter, and rest. But you and I must endure, and become welded to the sick and sorrowing earth.”
Nob agreed. “And yet there is much that is good.” He smiled and took a deep breath. “We have seen pregnant mothers bear healthy children, young lovers wed, wastelands become fields… because you, and Graves, and Rollin, Bellaa, and Caervas...kept fighting. The earth we are welded too, though every-day it grows weaker, it draws nearer to its birth and emergence into dawn. These are birthpangs of joy, Donny.”
Donindor gave several long sighs and stroked his beard. “You encourage me, Nob. I need to spout to you more often.”
He chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t want to steal your time with Beakerson. He needs the money.”
They both chuckled.
“What’s next? After you’ve had some time to recover from this lapse in sanity?”
“I hear from our man in Bent that Oliver, Hoshi and an Aldegourian are headed up this way. Something about poison and an airship. I can’t get involved, but I know someone who can.”
“What about Pale? The Dimensional Shifter? Can Head handle the situation without your details?”
“Ah, you see how it is. And the details which the members of the company have are also important... I’m not finished yet. I may need to get creative though… and mark my words, if ever I reassemble a company for the Order; I will find a way to know who to trust, and I will make sure they trust me.”