Wayward Sister by Iavalir

Chapter 1

An only child though she was, Idril never felt alone. She had Aredhel, the sister of Idril’s father Turgon. Idril’s earliest memory was of Aredhel singing to her as she bounced Idril on her lap. And Idril loved Aredhel; she would break out of her mother’s arms once her feeding was done and run around till she found Aredhel, who’d take her into her arms. It wasn’t that Idril did not love her mother; Aredhel was special, a sister she’d never have. Mothers were for comfort and nurture and bedtime stories, but sisters were for adventure and laughter. She had not yet reached her first year of life and already Idril rode, tucked snuggly in front of Aredhel as her horse took them past the most spectacular of lands of Valinor.

To be so young and exposed to such splendors had left their mark on Idril. Her dreams were filled with strange lands not even the lands of Irmo could compare. And when she first picked up the quill, Idril knew what she would write, for these images have long settled about inside her and were begging to come out.

Aredhel had not known how much her adventures with her little niece had affected her, but she still marveled over the vast imagination young Idril possessed. Childlike imagination rested inside the grown elf. Idril would read to Aredhel from her book of poems while they camped out, and closing her eyes Aredhel imagined skies of marigold and violet-tinted trees which glowed faintly near rivers bustling with singing fish. Castles made of seashells towering high over mountains, and horses with manes that sweep the ground - images which Aredhel could vividly envision and pretend she was part of.

These words inspired Aredhel’s own dreams, and in turn she’d travel more of Valinor in search of such sublime beauty. This pattern followed them across the Helcaraxë, supplying them such vivid tales of warm climates that they could almost feel the rays of the old Two Trees still on their face. Idril’s poems pumped in Aredhel’s veins when stepping into Gondolin for the first time, excitedly awaiting for a new realm to explore and fall in love with.

But to live in Gondolin meant to never leave it without a small traveling party to accompany, a thing which Aredhel scoffed at. But by not being able to step outside, Aredhel grew dull and dim within in the kingdom. Her heart ached to see more of Middle-earth, but the roads were dangerous, she was told, too dangerous for her to face alone. And the sickness in her heart grew graver.

Idril saw this and sought to lift the sorrow in her aunt’s - her sister’s - heart. She spun tales which brought smiles in Aredhel’s face, casting stars in her eyes as she was taken away from Gondolin’s suffocating white walls and transported to iridian lands she could almost touch and feel the crisp wind against her face.

Seeing Aredhel in such state pleased Idril in return, who understood her sickness. But while imagination kept Idril afloat in Gondolin, her tales only worsened Aredhel’s desire to leave, if only for a short while.

Idril should have known, for Aredhel belonged to the outside world, riding her horse through night and day and never fearing any darkness. She could only keep her wayward sister content with tall tales for only so long. In the end Aredhel had to roam free.