Something Stronger by Tehta

Chapter 1

At this moment, the brightest of the day, golden light seemed to hang, motionless, in the air, as if resting after the long journey from the Trees to the Sea. Only a few diligent rays made an effort to attempt one last task, that of painting brilliant highlights on the waves.

The jewels scattered on the beach must have absorbed some of the omnipresent radiance, for they appeared to glow with their own inner light. Laurefindil sat up, collected a few stones, and let them tumble through his fingers: yellow, red, violet, blue-green as the calm water. The bright sounds they made as they struck each other came together into a pretty, if unstructured, tune that seemed perfect for dancing. Perhaps he would write it down. In a day or two. When he got bored.

And then, suddenly -- shadow. Someone must have entered the hidden cove, footfalls masked by the tinkly music of the jewels. Laurefindil gazed up at the backlit figure, taking care not to squint too much. It would be wrong to assume an unattractive expression when surrounded by so much beauty.

Fortunately, he did not need to look very hard: the silhouette was unmistakable. Aikanáro’s hair never would lie flat, not even when freshly arranged for some formal occasion. After any exertion, frivolity, or encounter with water, it rose up just as it was doing now: like leaping flames, a ceremonial crown, or a thicket Yavanna herself would envy.

But why was Aikanáro here? He had been all but ignoring Laurefindil since-- Not that his presence was at all unwelcome.

“Hello!” Laurefindil smiled. “I thought you were fishing today.”

“I ran into Father.” Aikanáro flopped down beside him. “Last night, at the oyster festival. We had a little chat.”

“Oh?”

“He said I remind him of a grasshopper. Flighty and idle.”

Though indignant on his friend’s behalf, Laurefindil was wary of criticising his lordly father. He settled on, “But grasshoppers are anything but! In mating season, they dig--”

“No, he is right.” Few could frown as well as Aikanáro. His narrowed eyes were truly piercing, an impression reinforced by the spiky ends of his hair. “As a prince of the Noldor, I have real responsibilities. My actions should have purpose, and this seaside interlude has none. Perhaps that is why I am so… restless.”

It felt distinctly odd to hear someone who wore his hair unconventionally short just to demonstrate his individuality -- mostly to his parents -- speak in this conventional manner. But was it so odd, really? If a nonconformist haircut had failed to hold Arafinwë’s amused attention for more than one cycle of the Trees, perhaps conformity would succeed.

Still, such philosophical musings did not explain Aikanáro’s surprise visit. Not directly.

“That does sounds plausible,” said Laurefindil. “Only… I thought you did have a purpose today. Spear-fishing. With, you know, your new… friend. The sailor.”

“Yes. Well. Spear-fishing is hardly part of my serious responsibilities, is it?” Aikanáro picked up a flattish jewel and weighed it in his palm, his expression grim. “I did stop by his boat, to explain the situation. My birthright -- my destiny, if you will -- and the unpleasant duties it will soon involve. The lack of free time. I think he understood... well, he will understand, in a day or two.” He sighed, and threw the jewel sideways so it skipped over the water, a bright red blur. Then, he turned to Laurefindil with a sudden smile. “So, anyway. You have been to Valmar, have you not?”

“Yes, of course. As you know, my mother is Vanyarin, and I was actually born--”

“Care to visit it again? As my aide?”

“Me?”

The question, inane beyond reason, came out in an undignified squeak, but, to his great surprise, Laurefindil found he did not really mind. He had feared -- he could now admit -- that he would soon lose his princely friend for good: to new intimacies and pleasures, or even to his noble birthright. But to be shown such trust, and given such opportunity: a visit to the highest court, with its magnificent architecture and fascinating fashions… He felt so, so--

No. An aide should never be lost for words.

“I would be honoured,” Laurefindil said, with exaggerated dignity. “And I will make an excellent aide, as I am charming, patient, and clever, and, moreover, I can read every alphabet and dialect in existence.”

“Yes, I know. Although I also know how, and why, you learnt them.”

“Vulgar poetry is still poetry. Anyway, surely the means justify their ends?”

Aikanáro rolled his eyes, but Laurefindil could sense his suppressed laughter.