Not Wholly Unwilling by Ecthelion

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Not Wholly Unwilling

'It is not said that Aredhel was wholly unwilling, nor that her life in Nan Elmoth was hateful to her for many years.' -- The Silmarillion

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Disclaimer: Arda and all that is in it belong to Professor Tolkien. I own only the mistakes.

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Not Wholly Unwilling

She could not remember when the woods around her became strange. Tall, dark trees wove their thick branches to a dense net; numerous leaves rustled while there was no wind, like countless voices whispering from all sides, speaking an esoteric language that was not meant for creatures capable of moving to comprehend. Time seemed to have slowed down in the ancient valley; she felt she had been walking in an endless dream, with the woods stretching on and on ahead.

She was weary. She did not know how long she had been roaming in this place. Was it a day, a week, or even a month? But she cared not. Had she not been deliberately isolating herself from reality? This mysterious valley served such a purpose very well, which explained why she had been careless to enter it. If she could be lost like this forever, it might not be so unfortunate...

She strolled on. If the trail forked in front of her, she simply took one as she pleased. Caught in this unpredictable and perilous realm, she was a little surprised at first, but not scared; for how could she be scared? She was one of the House of Finwë, one born fearless and proud.

She stepped through a patch of grass moistened with dew, dragging her white skirt behind. Looking up casually, to her surprise, she saw an arched opening in the gloom of trees ahead. A clearing in the forest, she thought. Suddenly tiredness overwhelmed her, sweeping every sense away. Maybe I should consider a break, she thought drowsily. The way out could be still far away, very far away...

She did not expect the clearing to be occupied. Under the starlit sky stood several adjoining halls, neither splendid nor beautiful by the standards of her people, but she slowed down in spite of herself. Something smells familiar here, she thought. After surveying them, she fixed her eyes on one humble building, whose small, high windows revealed to her a dim red light inside. Coming to realize what it was, she narrowed her eyes even from such a distance, as if she had felt the heat radiating from it.

It was no wonder that she found it familiar, for she had grown up with the smell of it.

It was the smell of sweat, steel and leather, and of forges, anvils and hammers. How many times had she followed such a smell along with her twin cousins to the workshop of Curufinwë Fëanáro, wishing to pry into the secrets of making? How many times had she followed such a smell treading a familiar path in the backyard of the Crown Prince's house, to find her handsome cousin who seldom had the patience of waiting for his younger brother to finish his smith work inside?

She stood where she was, gazing at the halls that seemed to have appeared out of thin air, carried away for a moment.

'Elleth-en-golodhrim.'

Startled by the unexpected voice from behind, she instantly shook off the remote memories and reacted. Following the instinct polished by thousands of times of practice, she drew her dagger from her side and attacked, but as soon as her weapon struck the target, she sensed it was not the feel of driving a blade into flesh. Her fine blade made with Noldorin talent was stopped by something smooth yet exceptionally tough, and caused no real damage.

Before she could attack again, a knife was placed against her neck, and she had no choice but to stop.

'Welcome to Nan Elmoth.' said the voice.

Not until then did she realize the voice used a language she knew: unaltered Sindarin, without the slightest accent. Not Orcs at least, she thought, relieved. Straightening herself, she turned around with grace to face whoever caught her off guard, ignoring the sharpness at her throat and feeling the knife was forced to follow her movement, she could not help showing a smile of triumph.

A little surprised by her as well, the stranger raised a brow. He was tall and dark, dressed all in black, and his clothes had a long rip in the chest, apparently the result of her attack. But he was not injured; he wore a kind of chain mail underneath, for she spotted a dark, metallic sheen.

'Breaking into homes uninvited, drawing a sword upon others without thinking - the terrible reputation of your people proceeds you, my lady, and it is, I think, well-deserved.'

He must be one of the Sindar or the Teleri, she thought, for he had the eyes of the Moriquendi and the hair with a silver touch, and he disliked the Noldor. Did he deliberately try to provoke her? If so, she certainly would not do as he wished.

'But what about you?' she asked, eyes innocent. 'You are one of the Eldar, but you chose to hide in such a lightless place; you could have introduced yourself directly, but you chose to catch people by surprise.' she gave him a sweet smile. 'You have given others quite some reasons to draw their swords.'

His eyes became piercingly bright for an instant, but he quickly hid his anger, as if he had seen her through. 'Robbers good at words are probably good at finding excuses for themselves.' he said, and pressed his knife against her neck before she could retort. 'Who are you? What do you come for?'

'A robber I might be,' she ignored his questions, and panicked not. 'But unfortunately I am also proud.' with that, she casually cast her apparently useless dagger at her own feet. 'If you think a Noldorin robber can be easily threatened, I am afraid you are wrong, completely wrong.'

With the sound of metal hitting the ground, she saw that he was surprised by her again. After a moment of silence, he withdrew the knife and took a step back. After taking a better look at him, she found, not without surprise, that he deserved to be called fair of face if not for the grim look.

Of course, still no comparison to...

She felt a tingle in her heart then, but immediately held her head higher, as if pride could counteract pain. You are done with him, she told herself. You have made your decision. You are the daughter of the House of Nolofinwë; if you cannot compromise, you must give up, once and for all.

The subtle change that flickered across her face did not go unnoticed. He looked at her thoughtfully now, and when he spoke his voice was less cold. 'I am Eöl, kin to Elu Thingol.'

She did not know why he changed his attitude, but his words confirmed her suspicion. He was truly a Grey Elf. It was known to all that the King of Grey Elves had no love for the Noldor. Doriath was only open to the House of Finarfin; she was turned away from its borders even though she had no blood on her hands at the Havens of Swans, and had to take a dangerous road to...

This time she stopped herself in time. 'I am Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, daughter of Fingolfin.'

In return for his honesty, she revealed her identity to him. But he took it without awe or respect, as if her parentage had meant nothing to him. 'You are the White Lady?'

She acknowledged it with a nod. Only then did she notice that he was slightly stooped; and more to her surprise, he did not seem to care about it. He stared at her, eyes sparkling with inquisitiveness yet still unfathomable. 'And your people are comfortable letting you wander in the wild alone?'

She knew it was a tentative question, but she did not elude it. He had successfully stirred up her fighting spirit, and she would not let him hurt her by words. 'An escort is important only if you need it,' she looked him in the eye, 'Thingol's kin you claim you are, have you not chosen to live alone and secretively?'

'You are beautiful.' he suddenly commented. 'And arrogant.'

No one had been so bold and direct with her. Perplexed by such praise and criticism all at once, she hesitated, when he stepped forward and took her hand.

'Stay.' he said.

She struggled out of instinct, but failed to break loose from him; he was incredibly strong, and his fingers closed around her wrist like a band of steel. Knowing she could not win this match of strength she bit her lips, but he seemed to have enjoyed her frustration and thus let a fleeting smile pass his face. Gripping her firmly, he pulled her closer, slow but irresistible, until they could feel each other's breath.

'Stay, Aredhel Ar-Feiniel.' he said. 'I am not inviting you to be my guest; I want you to stay and be my companion, regardless of what happened in the past.'

At that, for a moment she even forgot to struggle.

'I do not mind if you have loved.'

Now she stared at him, unable to move her eyes, like a small beast fascinated by a snake.

'All I ask of you is to forget him; for I want you to be my wife.'

The spell loosened. She exhaled and tossed her head back. '"Forget"?' she laughed. 'Do you not know that the Eldar can never forget, and that oblivion is doomed to be a hopeless attempt, Dark Elf?'

She thought he would be angry at her insolence, but he was utterly unaffected. He watched her without blinking, as if her words had posed a problem that could actually be solved by him.

'Then love me instead.'

She was taken aback and could not but laugh again, thinking it must be the most absurd thing she had ever heard in her life. Parting her lips, she was ready to tell him the Eldar also would not lightly speak of love, but then the words were stuck in her throat - for if the love between the Eldar was truly an unbreakable promise, how could she have ever come into this world?

Her grandfather had demonstrated that it was not impossible to love a second time.

Could it be called fair then? He knew she had loved, but was willing to give her his vow for life, only to have her with him. And she knew he was selfish, but found his proposal so difficult to refuse, like poisonous mushrooms in the green fields after rain, dangerous but seductive. After all, he had staked himself on it; for once he uttered those words, he was prepared to embrace a bond that would last until the end of the world.

Then, should she accept him?

She used to wonder if she had been cursed to be loved and betrayed, time after time. Would it always end up the same way? Would this one be any different? Eager and blatant as he was, maybe he was not burdened with pride and vengeance, and thus would set her above himself?

Looking up into his dark eyes, she saw two white stars of radiance floating in those bottomless wells, reflections of herself.

Lips curling, she stopped resisting him.

'I will try.'

As those tiny stars grew bigger in her sight, she heard her own voice, close yet remote.

 

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Chapter End Notes

The story can be read as an extra chapter of Sad But True, but can also be viewed on its own. I was simply curious: for the marriage of an Elda, what is 'not wholly unwilling'?