Niobe of St. Andrews
Boundaries of Mirkwood
Chapter 2
"Niobe of St. Andrews"
Everywhere Niobe looked she saw white. Light faces with light hair in a brightly lit, chilly room. Donned in deep purple, her hair braided back and extended with deep redwood beads, and her skin silky ebony, she vibrantly clashed with the other viewers.
Realizing she had moved too far ahead, Niobe casually doubled back to find William deeply engrossed in a dark painting of two cottages. His eyes remained fixed ahead of him as she snaked her arm around his white sleeve and leaned against him.
It is a boring picture, Niobe thought as William folded into her, enjoying how her warm touch drove out the museum’s chill.
William replied with his eyes fixedly enamored by the painting. “Look at the brush strokes. They all run diagonally, from here at the right, to the bottom left. And here, the colors.” He pointed to the sides of the cottages nearly over-run by the lush, deep green. “It’s as if we’re tricked into believing everything’s dark at first, but look how bright the sky is near the mountains.”
William chanced a glance at Niobe, whom he realized was studying him far more than the painting. He shut his mouth, disappointed she wasn’t taking much interest in one of his other passions.
Her rich voice responded to his unspoken thoughts, evoking the very same infatuation in him now as it did the first time he’d heard it. “I seem to recall it was you who dozed off somewhere in the middle of Messiah." That voice; it was feminine, yet never trill or flighty. It was the deep voice of an ageless woman who simultaneously belonged to all and no time.
“Besides.” She rested her head on his shoulder, his body unconsciously melting into hers. La Roche Gyron isn’t even my favorite Renoir. I glimpsed a Monet further on; more color and if you’re mindful, you’ll catch the lovely oriental inspiration for the landscapes. I do love watercolors.”
A smile spread across William’s face. He really ought to have known better by now. Niobe’s greatest defense against those who would take her lightly was an arsenal of eclectic knowledge in history and the arts.
He brushed his lips against her cool, broad forehead, her scent hinting of Sandalwood. “I love you.”
Clinging to his white sleeve, Niobe smiled, contented.
* * *
“We’ll be late,” Niobe baited him. “I’m late to my concerts, always because of you. What am I to tell Mark?”
William sent her a coy smile, putting his hands on her waist. She sat upon the handrail of the ferry since the seats inside had all been filled prior to their tardy arrival to the dock. The air was frigid; the sky threatened to downpour at any moment.
“Tell Mark your good for nothing boy-toy dragged you to the other side of the island.”
“Which you have.”
“And back again.” He could feel her slightly shudder under her black wool coat, and his fingers reflexively tightened. “Are you cold?”
For Niobe, it wasn’t just the cold. A frost of apprehension was developing over the perennial joy she usually felt with William. It was something that shouldn’t have been there considering she’d practically glowed through their excursion at the museum. Knowing he would drag her inside if she said yes, she disbanded him with, “No, the hills are lovely; it is this wind and gray.”
“It would be nice if the sun came out.”
“Gbadu isn’t fond of it either.” Niobe adjusted the strap to her violin. The wood could warp in this kind of weather.
William always hated it when she became distracted like this. She spoke of nothing as though she were trying to surreptitiously change the topic and her typically sturdy frame would shudder under his touch, but she would never tell him what was wrong. “How about I run in and bring you some hot tea?”
Those white marble and chocolate eyes lit up just as he knew they would, bringing her back from wherever she’d been. He adored that look.
“Scalding?”
“Right.” William knew she just wanted to hold it to keep her fingers warm. Affectionately pecking a kiss on her cheek, he left to fight his way through the line. It was over his turned shoulder Niobe noticed a man scowling at her. There may have been a thousand reasons for him to do so, but she suspected it had to do with how very out of place she was. She loved William to no end, she really did, but he had two flaws: his irrepressible passion for Niobe occasionally resulted in an inability to reign in his emotions and his sometimes endearing, sometimes annoying tendency to forget her color. Now that he had left, she desired his presence more than a warm cup of tea, but for pride’s sake felt it silly to call him back.
Looking to the slate gray skies and the thick, deep green hills rolling among jagged cliffs, Niobe concentrated on breathing in the sharp cold air. Not so very long ago, she had used this same technique to loosen her nerves before a concert. The fact that this did not calm the nervous tension building within her mind this time disturbed her. Something was not right. The pressure in her chest would not abate and it forced her to turn her attention back to the boat. She realized that the man who had been scowling moved some time during her thoughts to a few meters away. There was no sign of William.
Returning after a brief wait in line with two foam cups of with scalding tea, William found a calmly simmering Niobe being sniped at by a grizzly looking local. Her face was a mask of calm, but her lean hands were tense and faintly twitching in her lap. Niobe was embarrassed and worried. Passengers nearby were vividly distasteful at the wobbling man, but saying nothing. He couldn’t exactly hear what was being said—the maddening buzzing in his ears caused by his furry was too loud for that—but he clearly understood the other’s intonation; slurred, inconsiderate, and inappropriate.
The irate and slightly intoxicated man, in his audacity, had moved too close to his desperate heart’s love. Swiftly, William stalked up with only Niobe noticing his presence. It was apparent that she didn’t want a scene. She had that look of warning in her eyes and used a subtle, solemn shake of the head. Niobe didn’t condone forceful action and William knew it, but she didn’t understand. That something would happen to her was his only fear, and for the past year all he wanted was to keep her safely by his side. Her pain was his. Her heart was strong enough to take the abuse, but his was not.
Without an introduction or ascertaining what precisely had been said said, William tossed the tea (scalding) into the drunk’s face. Three things then happened very quickly. Niobe reached for William to prevent a fist-fight, the blind, inebriated Scot swung a crazily off-center left hook, and William dodged it.
Niobe was hit solidly in the chest and her out-stretched arms flew over her head. The blow struck with enough force to set her seat on the railing off-balance, the weight of her violin the deciding factor. Her feet flipped into the air. There was hardly a drop to the water; her heart pounded in her chest in a futile surge to protect her. William turned and flung himself toward her, but all her could grasp at was air. The last face Niobe saw was that of a desperate William, his arm outstretched, reaching towards her in agony but all in vain, before being submerged in the frigid black of the loch.
Chapter 2
"Niobe of St. Andrews"
Everywhere Niobe looked she saw white. Light faces with light hair in a brightly lit, chilly room. Donned in deep purple, her hair braided back and extended with deep redwood beads, and her skin silky ebony, she vibrantly clashed with the other viewers.
Realizing she had moved too far ahead, Niobe casually doubled back to find William deeply engrossed in a dark painting of two cottages. His eyes remained fixed ahead of him as she snaked her arm around his white sleeve and leaned against him.
It is a boring picture, Niobe thought as William folded into her, enjoying how her warm touch drove out the museum’s chill.
William replied with his eyes fixedly enamored by the painting. “Look at the brush strokes. They all run diagonally, from here at the right, to the bottom left. And here, the colors.” He pointed to the sides of the cottages nearly over-run by the lush, deep green. “It’s as if we’re tricked into believing everything’s dark at first, but look how bright the sky is near the mountains.”
William chanced a glance at Niobe, whom he realized was studying him far more than the painting. He shut his mouth, disappointed she wasn’t taking much interest in one of his other passions.
Her rich voice responded to his unspoken thoughts, evoking the very same infatuation in him now as it did the first time he’d heard it. “I seem to recall it was you who dozed off somewhere in the middle of Messiah." That voice; it was feminine, yet never trill or flighty. It was the deep voice of an ageless woman who simultaneously belonged to all and no time.
“Besides.” She rested her head on his shoulder, his body unconsciously melting into hers. La Roche Gyron isn’t even my favorite Renoir. I glimpsed a Monet further on; more color and if you’re mindful, you’ll catch the lovely oriental inspiration for the landscapes. I do love watercolors.”
A smile spread across William’s face. He really ought to have known better by now. Niobe’s greatest defense against those who would take her lightly was an arsenal of eclectic knowledge in history and the arts.
He brushed his lips against her cool, broad forehead, her scent hinting of Sandalwood. “I love you.”
Clinging to his white sleeve, Niobe smiled, contented.
* * *
“We’ll be late,” Niobe baited him. “I’m late to my concerts, always because of you. What am I to tell Mark?”
William sent her a coy smile, putting his hands on her waist. She sat upon the handrail of the ferry since the seats inside had all been filled prior to their tardy arrival to the dock. The air was frigid; the sky threatened to downpour at any moment.
“Tell Mark your good for nothing boy-toy dragged you to the other side of the island.”
“Which you have.”
“And back again.” He could feel her slightly shudder under her black wool coat, and his fingers reflexively tightened. “Are you cold?”
For Niobe, it wasn’t just the cold. A frost of apprehension was developing over the perennial joy she usually felt with William. It was something that shouldn’t have been there considering she’d practically glowed through their excursion at the museum. Knowing he would drag her inside if she said yes, she disbanded him with, “No, the hills are lovely; it is this wind and gray.”
“It would be nice if the sun came out.”
“Gbadu isn’t fond of it either.” Niobe adjusted the strap to her violin. The wood could warp in this kind of weather.
William always hated it when she became distracted like this. She spoke of nothing as though she were trying to surreptitiously change the topic and her typically sturdy frame would shudder under his touch, but she would never tell him what was wrong. “How about I run in and bring you some hot tea?”
Those white marble and chocolate eyes lit up just as he knew they would, bringing her back from wherever she’d been. He adored that look.
“Scalding?”
“Right.” William knew she just wanted to hold it to keep her fingers warm. Affectionately pecking a kiss on her cheek, he left to fight his way through the line. It was over his turned shoulder Niobe noticed a man scowling at her. There may have been a thousand reasons for him to do so, but she suspected it had to do with how very out of place she was. She loved William to no end, she really did, but he had two flaws: his irrepressible passion for Niobe occasionally resulted in an inability to reign in his emotions and his sometimes endearing, sometimes annoying tendency to forget her color. Now that he had left, she desired his presence more than a warm cup of tea, but for pride’s sake felt it silly to call him back.
Looking to the slate gray skies and the thick, deep green hills rolling among jagged cliffs, Niobe concentrated on breathing in the sharp cold air. Not so very long ago, she had used this same technique to loosen her nerves before a concert. The fact that this did not calm the nervous tension building within her mind this time disturbed her. Something was not right. The pressure in her chest would not abate and it forced her to turn her attention back to the boat. She realized that the man who had been scowling moved some time during her thoughts to a few meters away. There was no sign of William.
Returning after a brief wait in line with two foam cups of with scalding tea, William found a calmly simmering Niobe being sniped at by a grizzly looking local. Her face was a mask of calm, but her lean hands were tense and faintly twitching in her lap. Niobe was embarrassed and worried. Passengers nearby were vividly distasteful at the wobbling man, but saying nothing. He couldn’t exactly hear what was being said—the maddening buzzing in his ears caused by his furry was too loud for that—but he clearly understood the other’s intonation; slurred, inconsiderate, and inappropriate.
The irate and slightly intoxicated man, in his audacity, had moved too close to his desperate heart’s love. Swiftly, William stalked up with only Niobe noticing his presence. It was apparent that she didn’t want a scene. She had that look of warning in her eyes and used a subtle, solemn shake of the head. Niobe didn’t condone forceful action and William knew it, but she didn’t understand. That something would happen to her was his only fear, and for the past year all he wanted was to keep her safely by his side. Her pain was his. Her heart was strong enough to take the abuse, but his was not.
Without an introduction or ascertaining what precisely had been said said, William tossed the tea (scalding) into the drunk’s face. Three things then happened very quickly. Niobe reached for William to prevent a fist-fight, the blind, inebriated Scot swung a crazily off-center left hook, and William dodged it.
Niobe was hit solidly in the chest and her out-stretched arms flew over her head. The blow struck with enough force to set her seat on the railing off-balance, the weight of her violin the deciding factor. Her feet flipped into the air. There was hardly a drop to the water; her heart pounded in her chest in a futile surge to protect her. William turned and flung himself toward her, but all her could grasp at was air. The last face Niobe saw was that of a desperate William, his arm outstretched, reaching towards her in agony but all in vain, before being submerged in the frigid black of the loch.
Subtitles
- Darkness and Starlight
- Abigail of Wellington
- Niobe of St. Andrews
- Arielle of Cedar Brook
- Yumiko of Shinjuku
- The Banks of River Running
- Stiff and Stark
- Screams in the Dark
- The Red Bird
- Many Meetings
- Night Fight
- Yumiko's New Friend
- A Mind of One's Own
- Running in Circles
- The Price for Revenge
- The Coming Night
- It Speaks English!
- Fragile Things: I
- Lull