Something Stronger by Tehta

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Chapter 4

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When they reached the lakeside, Laurefindil had to smile. He had guessed right: the cherry trees were flowering again. Their luxuriant blossoms reflected clearly in the still water, producing the illusion of two streaks of pink cloud, one around the lake, and one, miraculously, in it. Exactly like the previous year!

So the trees truly were part of nature’s cycle, of that pattern people were beginning to trust, where darkness and cold might recur, but spring would always come again, just like the dawn.

“Look!” he told Aikanáro. “The trees are reborn!”

“So they are.”

“You know, I have heard people compare this new-found cycle, of nature’s retreat and rebirth, to the cycle of the Trees’ light. I suppose they find the association comforting, like most reminders of Valinor. As for me,” said Laurefindil, a bit slyly, “I find that the periods of deprivation make the returning pleasures all the sweeter.”

With that, he sent his lover a sidelong glance -- but to no avail. Aikanáro seemed entirely focused on staring out over the lake. Only after a while did he say, “Yes, Valinor was rather boring overall, I suppose.”

No question about it, he was in an odd, distracted mood. Had something happened on his scouting trip -- or was it a family matter? Laurefindil had his suspicions.

“I have also heard,” he began, “that spring has worked its miracles on more than just plantlife. There is a rumour that Maitimo Feanorion has recovered enough to leave his bed, and to, once again, walk around making people uncomfortable with his great height, his good looks, and his serious demeanor.”

Aikanáro made no response to this beyond running a hand through his hair, leaving it even spikier than before.

Laurefindil pressed on. “So, have you seen him? Or heard anything about him? From Findekáno, perhaps?”

“Findekáno does not speak to me as he used to,” said Aikanáro flatly. “Things have been awkward between us ever since his rescue mission -- he should have taken me with him, surely. I could have used the excitement.”

“Perhaps he felt he could not spare the time to fetch you? If it had been you in captivity,” Laurefindil ventured, “I would have rushed off just the same.”

At least that provoked a brief smile. Then, Aikanáro raised his eyes to the blossoming trees.

“By the way, did you ever try the actual cherries? We did say we should, last year, but then I -- I must have been out scouting.”

“Yes. You were, and I did.”

Aikanáro tilted his head “And?”

“And I do not plan to tell you anything about them. You will have to make a point of returning here yourself, at the right time.” The cherries had been strange -- far more sour than any fruit of Valinor -- but Laurefindil had liked them... though probably more for their associations with last spring’s idyll than for any virtue of their own. He sighed. Perhaps he was the one acting odd here, expecting pure romance when, in truth, they shared so much more.

“How was your latest scouting trip, by the way?” he asked. “Did you discover any new wonders? Trees that grow and die in a single night, the dwellings of Eru’s new Children, amusingly-shaped rocks?”

“None of the above. Well, Findaráto did get over-excited by some rock formations, but that was because of their evident mineral content, not their humour potential. You know how he is.” Aikanáro took a step towards the lake, then turned to face Laurefindil. “If you must know, I have lost my enthusiasm for exploring this land. It used to feel new, and fresh, and right, but now it seems so… predictable. Even these pretty trees are repeating themselves. Same shape, same colour, same everything.”

“Well, yes, they are, but why is such repetition bad? I mean, music revolves about repeated patterns, though with variations, of course, and music is--”

“Oh, never mind,” said Aikanáro. “My complaint is irrelevant. After all, we are not in this land merely to explore. No, we have a duty to overcome the Enemy… the scouting trips were just the preliminary reconnaissance phase.”

Glorfindel blinked, confused by the change of topic. “The preliminary reconnaissance phase? So what comes next?”

“Strategic planning.” Aikanáro stood up straighter, as if these military-sounding words had turned him into a soldier. “Actually, that is why I asked you to come here.”

“It is?”

“Yes, I must tell you... We have decided -- during Family council, I mean -- to split the strategically significant territories among us.”

“Oh, I know that. While you were away, I made some lunar phase tables for Turukáno, and he told me that he needs them because the sea--”

“Anyway, Angaráto and I have spoken at length, and we both like the look of Dorthonion.”

“Dorthonion?” Having his future reorganised thus, without any chance to express an opinion, filled Laurefindil with no small resentment. But then, Aikanáro must have foreseen that; it might explain his awkwardness. “Where is that? And what is it like? Ever-green, I suppose?”

“Yes, of course, what with all the pines -- a good resource. Close to the enemy, too.”

“Pines...” Laurefindil looked at the cherry trees again, with their delicate, ephemeral beauty. “Well, I will be sorry to leave this place, but I am sure Dorthonion will have a charm of its own.”

“Ah. About that...” Aikanáro frowned deeply, his eyes flashing, his hair standing up like a crown -- and, suddenly, he looked like a war-leader, a man to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies.

Laurefindil had not seen this expression on him since Valinor. Though he was no enemy, fear entered his heart. Fear, and comprehension.

“As I mentioned,” Aikanáro was saying, “this is a time of change. We have idled in this camp far too long, and, as a prince of the Noldor, I--”

“You have responsibilities, a birthright, and no time for pointless romantic diversions,” Laurefindil finished. “I know this.”

“Then you understand?” Aikanáro’s strained face relaxed. “I should have known. You have always been astoundingly sympathetic. Indeed, I suppose that is why I--”

“No. I do not understand.” The force behind Laurefindil’s own words surprised him. “Or, rather, I do see your intent, but it makes no sense to me. I am part of this venture, just as you are, and I have duties of my own. While you scouted, I worked here: building houses, guarding farmers, observing this new world and making sense of its ways. I can explain the weather now, as well as anyone -- even Findaráto requests my predictions. I am a useful person. How can you…” His voice suddenly ran out of strenght, perhaps because of a growing pressure in his chest. “How can you think me a burden? On the Ice, you said-- Have I ever failed you? Or made selfish demands on your time?”

“Of course not! It is just that… You see, I…” Aikanáro grimaced, lost in thought. “What I mean,” he continued slowly, “is that I do not wish to hold you back from your own destiny. You deserve more than service with a minor lord.”

“Is that not for me to decide? I have long seen my destiny as--”

“You are a useful person. You said so yourself. You should be helping shape a great realm, not a pine-infested backwater like Dorthonion.”

Well, that was clear enough; further words seemed pointless. Humiliating, even. Laurefindil gazed out over the lake, where wind had rippled the water, destroying the perfect reflections. Soon, it would bring real clouds, which would overshadow the small, illusory clouds of blossoms.

“How about Findaráto’s domain?” Aikanáro’s voice carried forced cheer. “I know he shares your taste for beauty, and you say he appreciates you. He would take you on, I am sure, if I spoke to him.”

He would take Laurefindil on, regardless: he had already made the suggestion. But had there not been a certain softness to his voice, a knowing look in his eye? Findaráto surely knew his brother. He might have foreseen this very moment, and thought to offer kindness.

Laurefindil had once been very kind himself, to Aurewen, back in darkened Valinor. He had no wish to experience her side of the encounter. Anyway, Aikanáro was wrong: he had always found Findaráto’s aesthetic sense somewhat contrived.

Turukáno, on the other hand… Turukáno, who had every right to be an expert on heartbreak, swore by the healing properties of tireless, honest labour. And then there was that coastal realm of his. Laurefindil had long wanted to observe the moon’s effect on the sea for himself.

“Thank you, Aikanáro,” he said, “but there is no need. I will make my own arrangements.”

With that, he strode off, ignoring Aikanáro’s mumbled, awkward response. It felt good to do so -- and it felt even better to deliberately withhold the knowledge that rain would come soon. Serious rain, heavy enough to flatten even the spikiest hair.