Sad But True by Ecthelion

---

Do Not Tread on Me

---

He did not sleep well that night; he had that dream again.

It was a dream with which he was well acquainted. It always began from the white city of Tirion, when the Light of the Two Trees was still shining on the lands of Aman, before the Noontide of Valinor reached its end and the Noldor were estranged by the lies of Melkor.

Oromë was his mentor then. He learned much about kelvar and olvar from the Vala, and over time he became one of the greatest hunters among his people as well as a master of tongues of beasts and birds. Together with his brothers, he often rode on the plains of Valinor and hunted in the woods of Oromë, with Huan the mighty hound at his side.

He was born a prince, the third son of the House of Fëanor. His father, the eldest and most talented son of the King, named him Turkafinwë, because even among a people renowned for their strength and skill he was exceptional. Later he was sometimes called 'the fair', a fitting nickname for his qualities. It seemed inevitable that over the long years he had developed a unique kind of pride and, for the most part, it was understandable.

Doubtlessly his brothers had similar experiences. They were the offspring of the Spirit of Fire and fire was in their blood. That the House of Fëanor possessed as much of the pride as it did talent was widely known and remained uncontested. There is nothing wrong being proud; how can there be? One does not conceal a jewel if he owns it. How could any one question it or dare to presume they could be of equal status?

He truly believed no one could until he met her.

It started as an ordinary day. He was not surprised when he came home and saw Fingon there, chatting with Maedhros. He did the courtesy of nodding to his cousin and sat down next to his eldest brother, planning to change his riding clothes later. Only after getting himself comfortable did he notice the child at Fingon's side, dressed in snow-white and star-silver, pale skin and dark hair forming a striking contrast.

'Who is that?' he asked Maedhros, frowning. Before he got any answer, the child stood up, like a slender sapling of birch.

'You are quite rude,' the child said, defiance in the face. 'If you wish to know someone's name, why not ask her directly?'

Maedhros coughed and had to look away. But he blinked in disbelief. Her?!

He stared at her, and she stared back. They stared at each other, both refusing to budge, until he decided to give up. One does not simply argue with a child. Especially when he already had quite a bit of experience dealing with four younger brothers.

'Then what is your name, please?'

The child looked aside in conceit. 'I do not want to tell you.'

His mind must have gone completely blank then. All he remembered was that for a moment he even forgot his well-known habit: he was named by his mother Tyelkormo, for he tended to jump up if irritated. He heard Maedhros and Fingon bursting into laughter and felt a long-lost kind of anger. If you were a boy I would simply slap you. Count yourself lucky that you are not!

'Irissë,' Being the eldest son of the House of Fingolfin, Fingon did not indulge himself in his merriment for long. 'Mind your manners. You insisted your teacher for riding and hunting be someone who "really knows" animals. I can assure you that Turkafinwë is the best in that respect.'

Her brother's words softened the child a little but shocked him entirely. Irissë? Then this is the sister of Findekáno and Turukáno, the young daughter of Nolofinwë? While digesting the news he felt her gaze, full of doubt and obviously scrutinizing. It was quite unpleasant to be stared at by a child in this way, but just before his patience ran out, she broke the silence. 'So you are the cousin who knows more about animals than people.'

At these words he would have literally jumped up had Maedhros not stopped him in time. Girl or not, I will teach you a lesson, he roared in his mind in the tongue of wild wolves, I swear.

It was not until many years later that he came to see the truth in her words.

They said the Eldar always fell in love at the first sight, but that was obviously wrong. To fall in love at the first sight with a child? He was far more normal than that.

Several days later, he took her out for her first riding lesson. He was not unwilling but rather enthusiastic because he planned to give her a hard time. Before they left Tirion he had given her horse a specific order in advance (by very subtle means, of course): ignore her instructions and look for the first chance to throw her off unharmed.

He had expected her to either fall off the horse or burst into tears very soon, hoping to thus crush her unfounded pride, but she gave him no such satisfaction. She tried her best to deal with her horse without a single word of complaint, stubborn as a rock. In the end even Huan could not bear to watch her struggling any longer. Noting the sympathy in the hound's eyes, he had to admit this would not work as he thought and decided to end the trick.

Her horse was visibly relieved at his instruction of 'cooperate with her'. Leaning back on his own white stallion, he saw her beaming face when she finally managed to tell the horse to gallop. He suddenly felt a little guilty. Maybe I overreacted. However annoying she is, she is just a child.

She stopped at a distance, turned around and started heading back. He watched absently, wondering if taking this responsibility of teaching was a mistake. Findekáno and Turukáno both avoided doing this. Perhaps they are wiser. He gestured Huan to set off for fun and waved his horse away for rest. He himself found a patch of grass nearby and lay down, relaxed. For a moment his mind wandered, until the sound of hooves became louder and louder, and it was directed at him.

The horse was but a few feet from him when he sensed the danger. By pure instinct, he rolled to the side just in time to dodge the hooves, and jumped up quickly to drag down the rider.

'What do you think you were doing?' he was so furious that despite all the effort he put into suppressing the urge of slapping her, he was still by no means gentle or considerate when he let go of her. 'Making him tread on me?! Then you had better know it will not work as long as Arda endures!'

'You had it coming!' she broke loose from him as soon as her feet touched the ground. 'You told my horse not to listen to me!'

But he was already distracted. Anger did not dull his senses, and something felt wrong where she just touched him. Her hands were wet, but not because of sweat; for he saw the mark left on his wrist was red.

He seized her again and forced her to open her hands regardless of all her protest. There were traces of blood all over her small palms, the result of an inexperienced rider holding the reins tight for too long.

'Why did you not tell me?' he asked without looking up.

She withdrew her hands. 'Why should I tell you?'

This time he looked at her, and seeing her defiance he could not help thinking of his younger brothers: Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, and Amras. They were very different in many ways, but they did have something in common: unruliness. Maedhros and Maglor were no exception, nor was he himself. She is unlike one of the House of Nolofinwë, he thought. She was like one of the House of Fëanor. And it had always been a pity that they did not have a sister.

He called back his stallion. There was a phial in the saddlebag, and he poured all its content onto her hands. 'It will heal soon,' he assured her. The potion was prepared long ago originally for himself, and he had outgrown the clumsy problem ever since then.

She looked up into his eyes, surprised by what he did; after a little while, for the first time since they met, she smiled at him. 'Well, you are not totally without merit then.'

At that, his urge of slapping her returned.

When did that urge subside? When did he begin to enjoy her presence? When did he notice that she was no longer a child but a maiden tall and strong, like a young tree standing next to her brothers? And when did people start calling her the White Lady of the Noldor?

He did not know. All he knew was that she shared much intimacy with him and remained close to him even after the Shadow fell. She preferred his company, but kept a good relationship with his brothers, especially Amrod and Amras. She often came to visit them, and together they would go riding and hunting, far and wide. In fact he and his brothers had long treated her as one of their own, one of the House of Fëanor.

It was not until much later, when he saw her again after a long separation caused by the exile of his father, that he realized what she truly meant to him.

'You love me?' she tossed back her head, laughing out loud. 'Do not be absurd. You cannot possibly fall in love with one you have watched grow up.'

He laughed along with her, more naturally than he had dared to hope. The world around was lit by silver and gold, filled with warmth and light. The sound of laughter startled a flock of birds nearby, and the sky was full of screeching and fluttering for a while.

During that day's hunting he was more ruthless than ever. Soon the game was too much to carry, but he showed no intention to stop.

'Enough.' she said. 'Do not kill without need.'

He ignored her words as if he had not heard her, yet she would not take silence for an answer. She urged her stallion to catch up with him, until they were side by side, and then suddenly reached out to grab his reins. It was such a dangerous maneuver that even a master rider like him would not attempt lightly. She must have lost her balance instantly, for in the blink of an eye his horse was dragging her down from hers. As soon as he saw that, he dropped his bow to reach for her and fell with her.

It took more effort than he had expected to regain his sense of orientation. He shook his head and found himself no longer on horseback, but on the ground. She was next to him, with a couple grass-blades and some blood on her face, but she appeared to be fine, at least not seriously injured. So fair, so cold...that she looks more fragile than she really is, he thought, almost carried away. And she was so close that her long dark hair nearly touched his face...because he was still holding her around her waist.

'Tyelkormo,' she finally found her voice, 'If you mean it, I apologize.'

The magic dissipated. You apologize, but for what? For your mockery, or for your rejection? He released her and backed off. As the distance between them increased, a sharp pain assaulted him in the chest, but he took it with no visible flinch, determined to keep it inside.

She continued. 'You are my cousin. Actually you are like a brother.'

'But that is exactly what I meant.' he laughed harshly. 'Why do you apologize? There is nothing to be forgiven.' Then, with all the courage he could muster at the moment he turned to her, met her gaze and held it. 'My dear Irissë, have I done anything to make you misunderstand?'

He lied as best as he could, though he was never a good liar. But what else could he do? He was a son of Fëanor. This was the price of dignity and pride.

Now in the dream, he was granted the privilege of taking a closer look at himself. By an unexplained force he was irresistibly drawn to her, until he saw his own reflection in her bright, grey eyes, as clear as in a mirror.

On a remarkably handsome face was a casual smile, half in jest. But the eyes betrayed their master. Those were the eyes of a wounded beast. Behind the grey mists of deceit twisted white-hot flames, burning out of pain, humiliation and anger.

...

His eyes were burning in the thick grey mists of Araman.

'Come with me, Irissë. I cannot explain now, but trust me, this is important. Very important.'

She stood in the darkness, perfectly still. The light in her eyes was as cold as those mountains of ice in the water.

'We will take you as our own, I swe—'

'Tyelkormo!' she snapped. 'One does not swear lightly. And you have already sworn an oath that cannot be broken. Is that not enough for you?'

'No! I do not mind swearing another to you, for I shall never break it!' He blurted out those words, not because they happened to come to his mind. For a long time they had been on his mind. He pondered them. He pondered them over and over.

'And that is why I have to decline.' she held her head high, a posture he was extremely familiar with: stubborn and unruly, unlike a daughter of the House of Fingolfin, but like a son of the House of Fëanor. 'Although I am grateful that you care for me.'

Because I do not love you the way you want. He heard her whisper in her unguarded mind. I cannot love you as a lover.

He took a step back. For a moment, he was almost overtaken by the urge of knocking her unconscious and simply taking her with him, without thinking about what she might say or do afterwards. If she would hate me ever after, so be it. But another voice stopped him, rising from the darkest corner of his mind.

Even if you could take her with you, why would you do that? You know she spoke true. She does not love you, and you would have to watch her fall in love with someone else. Can you imagine the agony? Why would you choose to allow it to happen? All that you cannot possess, why would you make it possible for others to take?

Let her stay here in this cold darkness, on a different side of the world. Though she will never be yours this way, at least you will not have to witness the day she becomes someone else's bride.

He turned and left without a word. He did not even look back.

...

He heard his father laughing as one fey again.

'None and none! What I have left behind I count now no loss; needless baggage on the road it has proved.'(1)

He saw it coming. He wanted to protect her from it. He put aside all the pride and bitterness and went to find her. But what did he get in return? Another rejection, direct and clear.

'Let those that cursed my name, curse me still, and whine their way back to the cages of the Valar! Let the ships burn!'(2)

He saw Maedhros silently step aside, while Curufin did not hesitate to follow their father. Mouth twitching, he prepared a smile as sullen as it was cruel. Holding his head high, he took a torch from a guard. As he strode towards those beautiful white ships, to his surprise he felt Maedhros's inquisitive gaze.

Stop being hypocritical, my brother. Your weak words and symbolic actions were all you did for your friendship. At least I have tried something better.

The fire in Losgar seemed boundless. Looking up at the red sky, he wanted to laugh, but only managed a faint smile.

---

Chapter End Notes

(1) (2): quotes from The Silmarillion.

I know that Elves do not need reins or saddles, but saddlebags are surely convenient, even for them.