Édebar by Urloth

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Édebar II

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Guests with a little more stature could command a shaded table on the terraces in good weather. Here Eärwen sat, disinterestedly spearing her kelp salad, the view out across the ocean more appetising where she could see the vaguest hints of Alqualonde’s towers.

It had been… three days.

Three…

…days.

Not weeks.

Her visit was still just beginning.

She looked down at her hands which were still pruney from a morning spent idling in the tidal pools (with new poles and the attendant coughing every time she had swum too close to the modesty screens.)

The Sanctuary, she begrudgingly admitted, did seem to have a vested interest in healing. Even if they covered that cause of needing healing with words like “maidenly woes”, “feminine concerns”, “gentile displacements” and “anxieties from the mundane.”

What this meant was that after an unrousing talk from the attendant she had been told that she would have to take the first steps towards healing and talk of her worries. And no one would force her to speak.

Which meant largely being left to her own devices save for the morning dead-star-fish impression, mealtimes, and the evening prayer. Eärwen had taken to walking as far as the gentle walking tracks through the sanctuary would take her. In three days she’d managed to find every single termination point belonging to the gravel lined paths and her sanctuary appropriate foot wear, she had discovered, had left her with blisters that loved to sting in the salt water.

Eärwen hadn’t seen the Golodo again.

She tapped her fork angrily against her plate, uncovering a piece of shredded radish she’d missed when picking through the kelp. She speared the unfortunate morsel and chewed on it, turning her gaze back to distant Alqualondë. She would give anything for eel fried with the particular sweet sauce that the lunch vendor near the fifth pier did.

“Please try and eat a little more of the sole,” someone said near her, or she thought that was what it was said given she had never been a good student in the language and...

“It tastes like fish.”

It was Quenya.

“That’s the point.”

It was the Golodo from the sea pools, she sat at her own shaded table, dress neat and prim which was at odds with her hair which ran down her back in an unruly wave of black. She was in the company of a very tall gentleman with hair as wild and loose as hers, raven waves spreading out around him like snakes.

Her husband? Eärwen thought, thinking of the saga of the lost wedding ring. The couple was sitting close together and the gentleman’s hand was resting on the girl’s stomach, rubbing gently.

Eärwen’s stomach twinged in painful fearful reaction. That could be her. Soon. Maybe. If the other was her age then she must have been recently married. The gentleman caught her stare and smiled at her, bright and friendly. Embarrassed Eärwen smiled back and dropped her gaze. When she raised her gaze again she saw that the Golodo, her Golodo, was looking at her with a stiff expression.

The gentleman raised a hand and beckoned. Eärwen, unable to pretend that she hadn’t seen that when she was looking right at them, stood up awkwardly and took a step towards them. The gentleman raised his hand in the universal ‘halt’ gesture.

She froze.

He twirled one finger around and pointed to the chair she had vacated.

Sit… sit with them. She grabbed the back of the chair and looked at him, raising her eyebrows. He nodded and beckoned her just like before.

She pulled the chair over with her, wincing when it scrapped on the terrace tiles.

“Hello,” the gentleman’s Telerin was perfect. There was only a tiny hint of accent.

“Hello….again,” Eärwen’s eyes slid between both of them.

The woman was looking down at her plate, chewing on something determinedly given the clenching and unclenching of her jaw.

“My daughter says you helped her find her wedding ring,” the gentleman’s eyes were a beautiful blue, not as lovely as his daughter’s, but close. She was very happy to meet her Golodo’s father.

Not that she wouldn’t have minded meeting her husband.

But mainly she was happy to see her Golodo again. So she could apologise for … whatever it was. Looking at her wrists.

At the brui-

“ –f Tirion.”

“E… Mairawen of Alqualondë.”

She met his eyes and they were knowing in a way that made her feel like she had been pulled up by one of her tutors for becoming lazy with her work.

“Tarwë and Alaistë as said,” he gestured between them again, “we are here for two months to take a break from the city. Yourself?”

“I am here for a month,” because her father very much wanted her to marry the m-

“…because I’ve never left Alqualondë.”

“A holiday?” Tarwë didn’t seem to think it was strange she was here.

His … daughter… Alaistë, she pressed the name into her mind, did however. Given the look Eärwen was being given by those large eyes.

Not so large now. Normal sized. Adequately conveying disbelief that Eärwen would come to such a place for a holiday. Or choice as her first experience of life outside of her home.

“A nice safe choice,” Tarwë glanced at his daughter and Eärwen saw a round bruise, old enough to be green in the centre and yellowing at the edges near his ear when his hair slid back with the movement of his head, “my eldest decided to run off without telling us where he was going. One whole season later he sent me a letter to say he had found an apprenticeship with a smith he had met in a farming settlement. Wound up marrying his daughter… the smiths. The others were far more reasonable. Visited Taniquetil with their mother.”

“Taniquetil?” Eärwen leaned in and glanced at Alaistë. She was looking back down at her plate again.

“Hm yes. Well I am happy to see someone your age here, Alaistë could use company  her age. Or close.”

“How old are you?” Earwen hoped her question might raise blue eyes from a kelp salad. “Nine and a half yeni,” Alaistë replied, glancing up only once before savaging a piece of kelp.

Eärwen’s smile froze but she forced it to stay there, “oh I thought you were younger. I am six yeni.”

“Ah. No. she is merely short,” Tarwë waved to one of the attendants, “where can I get another pitcher of water?”

“I can get you one sir.”

Alaistë was blushing, “I am very short.”

“Maybe you’ll grow?” Eärwen suggested, “there should be time yet?”

She didn’t know. You were an adult at 10 yeni. There was even a party; a festival and her father would meet all those who had come of age… but you could get married before that. Sometimes those her father met already had children…

Ah… she was feeling unhappy now.

“No my feet fit my body,” Alaistë shook her head, “there’s nothing left to grow.”

Eärwen blinked, remembering how small Alaistë’s foot had felt. Not that she went around feeling women’s feet. In fact she’d only ever inspected her own feet but hers were so much bigger.

She glanced down at them as she thought that. Her brother called them seal flippers.

“Hm,” Tarwë followed her gaze, leaning around the table “oh you’re going to be quite tall when you’re done growing won’t you?”

“Will I? I suppose?” Eärwen had heard something of the like from her mother though couched more in terms of worry that she might become too “manly” a height and scare away suitors.

Not really a problem now since her mother seemed for have forgotten about those suitors.

“Is it true in Tirion Ladies have Champions that will dedicate their exploits in athletics and hunting in their name?” she asked since the conversation was lulling and she didn’t want to think too much about suitors.

“Oh I don’t know, do we look like nobility to you?” Tarwë asked.

“Yes,” Eärwen answered bluntly.

“Ah caught out so quickly,” Tarwë sighed.

“You didn’t need to confirm it for her,” Alaistë was smiling despite her words but it dropped away as the attendant returned with a new pitcher.

“Here is the water. We have some wine for those not on a restricted diet sir..”

“No thank you I am not interested.”

“We have some ale….”

“No I do not drink alcohol. I will continue to drink this.”

“I’ve never met an adult who doesn’t drink alcohol,” Eärwen wondered.

Tarwë’s smile felt old. “There are always exceptions.”

“But water can be so unsafe,” Eärwen protested.

“I don’t think we’re in danger here, not with a well blessed by Yavannah herself and watched over by the Lady Uinen,” Tarwë refilled Alaistë’s glass and then his own.

“What about in Tirion?”

“Oh if you know where it is, there is perfectly safe water,” Tarwë waved his hand,

“besides the rumours about Tirion’s problems with its sewerage system is just that. Rumours. I’ve never actually seen proof of half of what is said.”

But wait that means you have seen proof of half of it, Eärwen picked up, and a glance at Alaistë who was giving her father the sort of fond look women do when the men in their lives are telling outrageous lies, was further proof.

Ugh… at least Alqualondë’s water problems were mainly from when the sea water sometimes got into the pipes carrying their precious fresh water down from the springs further inland.

“But the champions,” she stubbornly returned, “is that true?”

“Hmmm yes there’s something of that going on right now,” Tarwë nodded and glanced at Alaistë, “but it is really something that the younger generation is involved in. Alaistë do you know more?”

Alaistë shook her head in apology, “no it’s for the unmarried really. Though a couple of married women have raised eyebrows,” her own eyebrow rose with the words.

“Ah yes,” Tarwë sighed, “a pity.”

“Sir,” an attendant lightly touched his shoulder as he opened his mouth and given the way Alaistë was eying her father, perhaps interrupting some teasing words to his daughter, “I know you are here to rest but a letter has arrived for you and it is marked as needing to be read immediately.”

“I see,” Tarwë’s face sagged, like it was too heavy for his skull and then with a nod to the attendant he stood, fixing his gaze on the main bulk of the sanctuary building. “Pardon me, Mairawendë do you mind staying here and making sure that my daughter is not blown away if the breeze becomes too strong?”

Eärwen giggled in time to the exclamation of “Father I am not that frail.”

“I don’t mind,” Eärwen was happy. She wasn’t quite sure why. She had a feeling it might be something to do with desperation and an unwillingness to dwell on anything other than the present. There was a voice that sounded a lot like Arawendë saying that she was like a child being offered a new toy to interrupt a crying fit.

“You would probably have men climbing all over you to champion you,” Eärwen enthused.

Alaistë, rather than look happy at this idea, instead looked ... disgusted? Very briefly of course before she gave Eärwen a typical “thank you” smile.

“I wish we had something like that in Alqualondë,” Eärwen hopped the subject away, “but it seems boring watching men have fun. Are women allowed to be champions too?”

“Not that I’ve heard of,” Alaistë leaned back, crossing her arms over her stomach, “you like to compete in athletics …Mairawendë?”

It was a false name, a disguise of the verbal kind… an outright lie. It sounded almost nice when Alaistë said it.

She didn’t like it though.

“Yes, I like swimming but I also run. I ran in the festival of Nessa last year! The middle distance.”

She hadn’t placed. There had been no garland of beaten metal leaves and jewelled flowers for her but she had been happy with the copper stemmed iolite flower she had been given as one who had placed in the middle of the pack.

“Impressive,” Alaistë leaned in just a little, “I’ve never competed in anything much. When I was a little girl I did win a stick of rock candy at the Festival of Tulkas for the horse shoe toss. Do you compete Festival?”

“No only recently. You are not allowed to compete in the running until you are five yeni,” Eärwen watched Alaistë

 “Ah,” Alaistë smiled, “Maybe I could have competed if I’d been born in Alqualondë then. I wasn’t married till I was seven yeni.”

“That’s still awfully young,” Eärwen tucked her dress tighter to her body as a breeze began to pick up that had a slight chill to it.

“How could I say no to such a good match?” Alaistë smiled at her.

The tone was happy and cheerful and Eärwen nodded along with it even as she asked

“what is a good match?”

“Well, wealthy, well positioned in society, known for his noble spirit, and athletic for me,” Alaistë threaded her fingers through one another. Eärwen meanwhile was trying to keep her expression in place in the face of a good description of Arafinwë Finwion to herself.

Was Prince Arafinwë athletic?

 “Well… good… was the courtship nice?” Eärwen inserted awkwardly.

“… it was nice,” Alaistë’s smile changed its tone but Eärwen couldn’t read it.

Just nice?

She wasn’t expecting gushing romance but … nice?

Nice was such a nothing of a word.

“Do you know if there are any nice walks through the gardens?” Alaistë pointed out towards where shrubbery had been convinced despite brisk sea air to thrive, albet lower to the ground than was usual.

“Yes I know a couple,” Eärwen let the subject change, eager to perhaps walk with her new (hopefully soon) friend.

“Would you show me them? Or point them out to me?” Alaistë asked her and Eärwen happily volunteered herself to show Alaistë all the walks she had discovered.

-

Alaistë was, Eärwen discovered promptly thereafter, far different away from the table and walking than sitting like a particularly beautiful doll under the shade on the terrace. Was it her father’s presence?

Eärwen thought about the bruises she’d seen, just very quickly, and her mind stirred for a moment like a hive of wasps lightly rocked.

Alaistë, up and about on her feet, was quicker and nimbler than Eärwen had expected her to be, though apparently her pregnancy was not that advanced yet, not even two seasons. Eärwen had expected dainty steps but Alaistë’s stride once she was moving ate up the ground beneath her like she was warming up and ready to take flight into a sprint at any moment.

They came to the shrubbery and after a moment of admiring them, Alaistë set her sights towards a grouping of trees that were managing to grow with some sort of attempt at height in the distance.

“I used to climb trees a lot as a child,” she said as they marched briskly along, Eärwen swept up in her vigour, “my parents, there were many orange trees all through the grounds of our house. They used to make a perfect place to perch in or play in, or even read in. My mother used to scold me but I don’t think she realised that some of my best studying was done up a tree.”

“Was this in Tirion?” Eärwen tried to imagine it, the white city and beyond it possibly manses like existed in Alqualondë, with large walled off gardens within.

“Oh no,” Alaistë shook her head, “I didn’t go to Tirion until my betrothal. I was born and raised in Formenos.’

“The Orchard Town near the Pelori?” Eärwen had to search her memory for that one, delving into classes she’d not wanted to sit through and thus were hazy.

“The very same town,” Alaistë smiled with such pleasure that Eärwen finally felt as though learning every settlement in Aman and their main source of produce had actually been worth sometime. She forgive a long gone tutor for drumming the information into her. It was worth it to see a smile like that.

She hurried after Alaistë as the other woman took off again, nearly bounding off in her enthusiasm to reach the trees.

-

A week later Eärwen was feeling positively sanguine towards the sanctuary. She couldn’t resent it any more, though the tidal pools remained, in her opinion, a waste of time. The reason for her lack of ill-will was Alaistë.

She usually saw Alaistë on the walk down to the tidal pools. Then pruned, she usually found herself napping somewhere in the gardens for an hour before dragging herself to the handball courts that existed on the other side of the sanctuary. Usually Alaistë was there. In fact Alaistë was the one who had told her about the little off shoot of the gardens in the opposite direction to where Eärwen had been determinedly mapping the garden paths with her feet.

The afternoon was meant to be spent meditating or giving back to the sanctuary through helping in the gardens. Alaistë got a pass because she was in “a delicate state.”

She spent her pass sitting at the edge of whatever vegetable patch Eärwen was situated in and telling her about Tirion, the life Alaistë lived there as someone involved in the court. There was a large gap in the narratives. Alaistë’s husband featured like a character written in at the last moment. There was no description of him amongst the lavish tapestry Alaistë wove with her words. Rich brocades, jewels, and gold drapped the characters Alaistë told her about, but the mysterious husband was an empty void.

Clearly there but undescribed, unspoken of, his actions unaccounted for.

Determinedly ignoring the voice not unlike her sister’s that insisted that she was using Alaistë as a distraction from her situation and fixating on the other woman to an unhealthy degree. Eärwen instead fixated on that empty space in Alaistë’s stories.

She didn’t want to ask Alaistë though. In the space of a week they’d gone from an awkward stare across the table, to spending most of their time in each other’s company. She felt, no, simply knew, that asking about the mysterious husband would ruin the swiftly grown, far too intense, and far too fragile friendship.

She could have asked Tarwë but she ran into the awkwardness of asking an acquaintance whom she did not share a strong familiarity with, about business that she, in all honesty, had no right to be asking about. His being a much older man made this twice as awkward.

Three times as awkward.

He had as much admitted he was a grandfather.

Well he had to be. Alaistë already had a son, which had been a frightening discovery, and apparently Tarwë’s eldest son was expecting his fourth child.

Eärwen did not have grandparents on either side of her family, the migration had not been kind on her family and not just in regards to her infamous uncle. She put her reluctance to ask down to her own manners and let the matter be, stewing over the mystery when she had the time.

And she did have a lot of time.

She wasn’t used to not having tutoring or social engagements, either her own or at the side of her mother and sisters.

Her tenth waking at the sanctuary began with a letter.

Adressed to her in Mairolwë’s handwriting. For a moment she’d become excited and thought that Umëawen had written to her, but her sister slanted her writing more acutely than Mairolwë

Eärwen turned it over, unsure of whether she should open it and give her brother a chance, or to simply burn it. Or rather rip it up and put the paper in a composting pile since she only had her room’s lamp to burn things with and she wasn’t stupid.

The room was beginning to lighten towards the brighter state of gloom that heralded soaking time in the tidal pools.

Eärwen opened the letter out of irritation that her brother, at a distance, could make influence her so much.

~Sister I hope that your stay at Édebar has been enjoyable thus far. I think it will have been eleven Tree cycles since I last saw you when this letter arrives and I do hope that you will read it despite your current unhappiness both with myself and with current circumstances.

Good enough, Eärwen found that she was running her thumb over her nails unconsciously. She glanced down. Eleven days had removed the muddy red stains underneath her nails. She could still feel the weight of her brother’s jaw under her hands though as though she’d only just reached for him. The proud handsomeness that drew sighs from her friends despite her brother’s married status hadn’t fractured once, and his hands, strong from silver-smithing and his enjoyment of wrestling though who knew where he found the time for either with so many duties, had been considerately gentle when he’d pinned her down into the earth of the garden she had cornered him in.

~I myself have found time to think about your parting words to me. I acknowledge that you are correct. Your current predicament is my fault and I am sorry that my actions are causing you such great unhappiness. All of your accusations are correct in fact, but I suppose this is little more than a formal confirmation of something you already knew.

Yes, Eärwen acknowledged.

~But in light of this please don’t turn completely away from me. Prince Arafinwë’s friendship has been an important part of my life since his first visit to Alqualondë, when we were still children together. You were only just born I believe. He thought you a far more beautiful baby than he’d ever seen in his life. Not of course that he had seen many babies given his status as a youngest child and the Goldórin penchant for sequestering expectant mothers in the last stages of their pregnancies until the child had seen a season.

Eärwen’s eyebrows furrowed at this non sequitur. She was disinterested in discussing Prince Arafinwë. She was completely uninterested in anything that pertained to Prince Arafinwë save what could turn Prince Ñolofinwë’s mind away from the idea of forging a marriage between his brother and herself. And, she presumed, King Finwë because even in Alqualondë it was well known that Prince Ñolofinwë did nothing without his father’s approval.

~He is a good man Eärwen. I can vouch for this. Our sisters can vouch for this since I know you do not consider my opinion worth any more than the salt scrapings from the roof. Even our parents, begrudgingly, hold love for Arafinwë for he has been a part of our lives for so long and his personality is such that you can’t help but love him. For someone of your status and stature you could not do much better. Arawen and Umëawen married well though beneath them. Also even with your seal feet you are unlikely to be taller than him.

Eärwen crumpled the letter in her hands and threw it at her desk, two thirds of it unread yet. She would shred it and work it into the compost pile in the afternoon.

-

She was unsettled as she laid back in the tidal pools, and everything that she had not noticed for over a week was once more annoying. The stupidity of the canvases, the stagnant feeling of the water despite being let in fresh at the high tide, and the worthlessness of lying still in water every morning for up to an hour.

She sighed with pointed annoyance and deliberately kicked to make the water fountain up and hit the canvas modesty screens.

“I thought you were going to stay in bed this morning,” Tarwë’s voice immediately answered, “what has you so petulant this morning?”

 “Sir?”

“Oh. … Mairwendë! I thought you were Alaistë.”

The attendant was gone and Eärwen dared pushing up the canvas, careful this time though with new poles surely the canvas could take a little jostling.

Tarwë glanced at her and raised an eyebrow then smiled, “don’t let yourself be caught. I think Alaistë is still in bed. She felt a little poorly at dinner last night.”

There were scratches on his neck and shoulders alongside roundish bruises, they made a set, much like the bruise on his jaw and the scratch on his chin that were still barely visible. Unlike Alaistë he had no shift to pull over the bruises and he seemed not to care, or had perhaps not noticed.

“Why do I have to wear a shift?” Eärwen asked, seeking the first thing in her mind to keep away from a sudden rash of guilt.

“Reasons owing to breasts probably,” Tarwë’s hair was piled up on his head in a great ragged bun. He had a great deal of it… hair. It was thick and raven-dark, clearly Alaistë took after him in that regard.

“What does Alaistë’s mother look like? Your wife, is she beautiful?” she queried. Tarwë was very tall and his eyes were a different blue to Alaistë’s. They had the same nose though, a proud protuberance from their face that was almost like they’d copied the cliché of what a Noldor’s nose was.

“Ala… my wife?” Tarwë looked up at the canvas and a delighted smile spread briefly over his face before he looked back to Eärwen and the smile faded away. “Lovely,” he said vaguely, “she is lovely.”

Eärwen just looked at him. Well there was another thing Alaistë had inherited then. An inappropriate use of nothing words.

“Lovely?”

“Very lovely,” Tarwë managed to enthuse blandly, “…just lovely. Alaistë is shorter than her.”

“You really enjoy pointing out how short your daughter is don’t you?” Eärwen rest her chin on her arms, the canvas remaining pushed up by her forehead.

“It’s lovely,” Tarwë winked at her and the tone of his voice drew lovely out of its nothingness into somethingness. A true appreciation of Alaistë’s diminutive stature. He was teasing her, Eärwen realised and forced herself to frown at him.

Unaffected he chuckled and sunk down into the water till the straggling pieces of hair down his neck floated up near his ears, “thank you for spending time with Alaistë, she is lonely enough at home and then I selfishly picked her up and took her all the way out here.”

Eärwen didn’t believe that, or couldn’t believe that. The wonderful stories Alaistë had woven of the court were full of people Alaiste knew and was friends with, clearly. She knew so much about them and spun them so real that Eärwen could almost see them in the air between them.

“She has a gift for observation that my son is a fool for not noticing,” Tarwë was watching her with, what she had to guess, was his own version of a court-mask, serene and neither happy nor upset.

“…your son?” Eärwen tilted her head. Why should Alaistë’s brother care why-

“Her husband,” Tarwë leaned back against the wall.

“Her husband,” Eärwen echoed.

“My son.”

“Your son.”

Water dripped off the canvas between them, running in a chill line down the side of Eärwen’s face.

“Married to Alaistë who is your daughter?” She knew things were different in Tirion but surely not this different.

“I wish she was my daughter in truth, but no she is the woman my son married, my daughter by marriage.”

There was a long pause between them as Eärwen digested this sudden shake up in what she had assumed and imagined about their lives back in Tirion, and Tarwë watched her do so.

“You couldn’t have simply told me that when I asked you about Alaistë’s mother?!” Eärwen snapped, angered at the ruse and the stupidity of the conversation she’d just engaged in.

“I wanted to engage in the illusion that she was my daughter a little longer,” Tarwë brought his hands up in front of him, “just a little longer. I would be overjoyed if she was my daughter born. But sadly no. She is not.”

“I see,” Eärwen could hear a ringing, from inside her head. She was mad. She was furious. Her face felt hot and her hands were curled into fists, chin no longer resting on her arms.

“For what it’s worth,” Tarwë slowly lowered his hands, “she is shorter than both her mother and my wife.”

Eärwen did not dignify that with an answer. Instead she reached her hand down into the water and launched a spray of water straight at his face. Then she pulled back, canvas springing down into place, and marched out of her tidal pool, back stiff and proud as she dressed and walked all the way back to the sanctuary.

-

Alaistë didn’t look unwell.

She was tucked up in one of the fanned out wicker chairs in the main room. It had been a tiny mission to find her. Eärwen hadn’t found her in her room (the second floor), and had sulkily gone back to her own to put on a fresh shift and dress before coming down to the cavernous foyer to track her down. The dingy light was doing a good job of making her glow, or perhaps it was just the light rosey flush on her cheeks.

Eärwen’s heart squeezed in a delicious ache at the sight and she almost sighed, but kept the noise in, reminding herself of the deception she had just uncovered.

Alaistë was sitting with a sewing basket on the chair next to her, and a tiny tunic in her hands which she was attempting to sew ties onto the sleeves.

Eärwen deflated, unable to stay mad at such a sight.

“What are those for?” she indicated to the long strips of fabric in Alaistë’s hands.

“Hm? They’re ties so the extra material can be folded over the hands of a baby to make sure they don’t scratch themselves.”

“Babies do that?” Eärwen pulled a wicker chair for herself closer and took a tentative seat.

“Yes, my sister showed me how to sew them on after my son scratched his face.”

“Is this your actual sister or your husband’s sister and Tarwë’s daughter?” Eärwen asked and her voice came out so petulant and sulky that she wanted to punch herself.

Alaistë looked up, looked down, and frowned. “He can’t keep a secret to save his life. Why are you mad at me Mairawendë?”

“Well… you didn’t tell me. I’ve gone and embarrassed myself asking about your mother from him!”

“What did he say?”

“….that she is lovely…and that you are shorter than both her and his wife.”

Alaistë sighed out and pressed her hands against her face for a moment, muttering a few of those foul curse words that Eärwen had first gotten to know her voice by.

“I suppose my mother is lovely,” Alaistë agreed. “I am sorry that you were misled Mairawendë.”

Eärwen promptly felt the bottom of her stomach drop out as guilt slammed into her.

“Why do you call him father?”

“He acts like my father. He watches over me and protects me. He cares more about my health and for my happiness than my husband does. He understands… what is happening. I wish I could have been his daughter,” Alaistë smiled down at the fabric in her hands, “I wouldn’t have been married to his son then… but his wife would actually be my mother.”

“You don’t like your mother by marriage?”

“No… we do not get along.”

“Oh,” Eärwen’s shoulder’s sagged down. How horrible. Arawen’s mother by marriage was a lovely woman. Umëawen’s mother by marriage was incredibly timid and not often seen in public but she knew Umëawen doted on the delicate court lady when her sister and her sister’s husband were in Alqualondë.

“Why are you here?” Alaistë was watching her, hands stilled.

Eärwen thought of the twisted feeling in her shoulder from coiling up too tightly beneath her bed and how her nose had run and her eyes had been puffy from the amount of dust under there because the maids had been skimping in their duties.

“Marriage,” she said shortly.

Alaistë‘s eyes flicked off to the side for a moment before centring on her again, “as am I.”

Unbidden Eärwen remembered the yellowing bruises she had seen on Alaistë‘s arms.

Something slithered through her thoughts. An uneasy non-thought settled for a moment against her stomach and made it tighten till it ached, and skin was suddenly goosebumped.

“Is that why Tarwë brought you here?”

“Yes,” Alaistë brought her head up and tilted her chin proudly, “I found out my husband has a mistress in Taniquetil and collapsed. Tarwë, Father,decided I needed time away from Tirion to recover. Also he needs the rest himself. When he becomes too stressed his stomach begins to pain him and he throws up blood.”

Eärwen’s eyes widened. Shock ran through her.

“That’s awful,” she croaked.

“Yes I know, it’s alarming to behold and he’s ruined many a good set of ro-“

“Not that! Well yes that also! Your husband,” Eärwen;’s throat tightened. How could someone like Alaistë have a husband that was unfaithful? Or rather how could anyone be unfaithful when they had Alaistë as their wife?

She wasn’t going to play around pretending that such violations did not happen, or pretend to be shocked because of the news that an adultery existed. Pretences like that were for three people, her brother had told her once, the pious, the stupid, and those who were guilty of the deed.

“I have accepted it now,” Alaistë waved her hand, “in fact I am thankful towards the woman. It means he has to leave for a few days whenever he wishes to visit her. The little breaks without him were a blessing.”

“If I was your husband I would never even comprehend violating our marriage vows in such a way,” Eärwen said, blunt and proudly.

Alaistë looked up at her in surprise and Eärwen’s face felt so hot that it was physically painful. She leapt up onto her feet, bowed as quickly as possible, and hurried around the shielding dwarf-palm in its fancy pot.

Then she ran, all the way back to her room at top speed, nearly taking out the ever calm attendant who only murmured quietly for her to “please show some decorum” as she passed her.

-

Her face, still burning with the tips of her ears actually aching from the force of her blush, was only given a reprieve for an hour or two.

There was a polite knock on her door, then the door knob rattled but she had latched it and so it did not open. Eärwen remained quiet. The doors were not that well fitted. For example hers had a gap just wide enough for one of the sanctuary’s butter knives to be slipped in and up, lifting the latch deftly.

Alaistë let herself into the room and brushed down her skirt as though interfering with the lock had gotten dust on her.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked. Eärwen stared at her and wondered if she could remove her ears in some way to stop the pain from how they burned.

“No.”

“That was a very nice thing for you to say, I am very touched by it. There is no need at all to feel embarrassed.” Alaistë’s voice was soft and sweet and Eärwen imagined it was the tone she took with her son.

“You’re only three yeni older than me, my sisters are older than that compared to me, don’t talk like I’m a baby,” she grumbled into her arms and then pulled a pillow over to hide her face in.

“I do not think you are an infant,” there was a dip in the bed and then the blankets dragged as Alaistë crawled over to her and a warm hand was laid on her back. “Mairawendë look at me. Raise your head.”

Now she really was being spoken to as though she was a toddler. Still, Eärwen glanced over her shoulder despite herself, doing her best with a one eyed glare to convey how much she did not like that tone of voice.

Alaistë leaned in and her lips pressed warmly against the one part of Eärwen’s cheek, burning red still, that was visible to her and her lips were cold, slightly chapped from the constant breezes on the isle, and seemed to make Eärwen’s blush only worse.

Her ears were in agony now.

“Not your toddler,” she grumbled despite the fact that Alaistë was manipulating her body the way she’d seen her sister by marriage deal with her tantruming nephew…and Eärwen was letting her.

“No but you certainly act like him,” and now she was being pulled upright and into Alaistë’s arms.

Which was nice.

Very nice.

Very warm.

“If you were a man I’m sure you would make a good husband to whatever lucky woman you married…when you were a more reasonable age.”

“I’m a reasonable age for marriage right now,” Eärwen slipped her arms over and up around Alaistë’s middle.

“No, and as I do have experience in this please let me be the first to say that even seven yeni is too young.”

Eärwen frowned up at her and Alaistë smiled down at her.

“When we leave please come visit me,” she said, “I will give you my details and you can write to me.”

But wait, if Eärwen had been upset about Alaistë letting her keep the wrong assumption that Tarwë was her father then how would Alaistë react to the fact that Eärwen had completely lied about who she was and …

“I have my own confession to make,” she clamped her hands on Alaistë’s shoulders, “I’ve lied to you as well.”

“Technically it wasn’t a lie,” Alaistë corrected but she was smiling and so Eärwen memorised that smile because surely it wasn’t going to last.

“It was half a lie at least,” Eärwen returned. “My name isn’t Mairwendë.”

“No? It’s not at least an epessë? Going by your epessë isn’t a lie at all.”

“It’s not even an epessë. My name is Eärwen. Olwiel.” Adding the last bit was hard.

“Ah,” Alaistë had stopped smiling but she wasn’t frowning, “that explains a great deal.”

“Pardon?”

“Why you look so much like Princess Umëawen and your silver hair. I didn’t want to ask but father said you were possibly a …”

Alaistë’s voice trailed off.

She looked profoundly uncomfortable.

She leaned in, kissed Eärwen on the cheek and wriggled off the bed with a slight grunt of effort.

“Thank you for telling me, I’m not mad,” the Golodo said quickly and then it was Eärwen who watched her friend rush away, heart in her throat and utterly confused.

At least, she managed to console herself, Alaistë had not said she hated her or was angry at her?

In fact quite the opposite.

Eärwen was not very good at comforting herself.

-

The next day she did not see Alaistë when she walked down the tidal pools and she took a seat at the covered table where only Tarwë sat with a great deal of trepidation.

“Ah, Mairawendë, Alaistë is not feeling well again. I’m afraid she’s reaching the part of her pregnancy that didn’t agree with her the last time either.” The tall gentleman’s demeanour was no different than usual which mean he didn’t know or he was a good actor and Eärwen simply decided to believe the first to try and quell the nauseous dread in her stomach.

“I thought the sickness happened in the beginning of the pregnancy,” Eärwen pushed her kelp around her plate. “It does usually but there are exceptions. Hers hit later.”

“I’ll go visit her then.”

“Perhaps give her time to rest,” Tarwë’s meals were always blander than the rest. She supposed if he had a weak stomach that made sense.

Throwing up blood though. She shivered.

He looked healthy enough. Well he’d had dark bags beneath his eyes when she’d first met him if she recalled it right, but she’d been more interested in Alaistë then. His cheeks were a bit more hollow than looked natural. But he seemed buoyant and with his personality she couldn’t imagine him being the sort that became so stressed he began throwing up.

“Did you and Alaistë fight?” Tarwë asked her, carefully stirring his soup of vegetables in a stock without touching it.

“No, not really,” Tarwë made a noise of unmistakable relief.

“Good. Good. I worry. For her. She should never have married into our family. I should have been stronger and said no to my son when he said he wanted to marry her. She was still very much a child when the betrothal happened. Like you are now.”

Eärwen bristled, subsided, then bristled again. She knew his intentions were good but she wasn’t a child.

“Well I suppose that is the old man speaking in me.”

“What was Alaistë like when you first met her?”

“Playful, bright and bubbly and making up for her miniscule size and unfavourable placing as a younger daughter with her personality. We had ridden all the way out to Formenos so my son could ask for her hand. I misunderstood the situation and thought he was asking for her older sister’s hand. It was a match I was happy to contemplate. With her older sister I mean. A lovely young woman. My wife did not like her but I did. Ah well.”

Tarwë shrugged a shoulder and finally ate some soup.

-

“Are you avoiding me?” Eärwen asked the moment she made her way to the suite that Tarwë and Alaistë shared, a neat little set of rooms with a bedroom apiece and a room that connected the two.

“No I woke up this morning sick enough that I thought my internal organs were trying to crawl out my mouth,” Alaistë waved a hand dismissively, and she did look unwell enough that Eärwen left the topic alone.

Instead she crawled into the bed and lay down tentatively, watching her friend who watched her in return.

“Though to be honest, your talking about being a man did keep me up for a while last night, thinking about it,” Alaistë said at last, chuckling in a manner that didn’t sound like she was amused by the thoughts.

Eärwen’s heart squeezed and ached for a moment, “did you?”

“I managed to make myself jealous about an imaginary wife for an imaginary male you.”

“Oh no, if I’d been a man I would have eyes only for you,” Eärwen promised.

“You were four yeni when I was married.”

“Four yeni and a half,” Eärwen leaned in.

“Very well. But either way I would have been married.”

“Well then I would have …hm,” Eärwen stopped to think, “well then I would have come to Tirion and become your champion. And present you with all of the prizes given to middle distance runners who place somewhere in the middle that I would win for you.”

Alaistë snorted then covered her face in her hand for a moment. “You’d make me one of those women that people raise their eyebrows over would you?”

“Yes, in jealousy at the good looking Telerin who is winning you so many consolation prizes,” Eärwen promised.

“The Telerin Prince,” Alaistë raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well,” Eärwen shrugged a shoulder, “isn’t the imaginary you where I am a man lucky?”

Alaistë snorted again, then let herself laugh, properly. Eärwen enjoyed the noise, patiently waiting for her to be done. When Alaistë was done laughing she raised her head, and her smile had a strange tinge to it that Eärwen didn’t recognise.

There was no retort, just a silence since Eärwen was waiting for words but Alaistë was not bringing them forth. Instead Alaistë leaned in closer, close enough that their noses bumped and Eärwen felt breath that wasn’t her own against her mouth.

“I am more lucky that you are very much yourself though Eärwen,” Alaistë said and leaned in, stealing Eärwen’s chance to bask in the sound of her actual name as said by Alaistë because she was too busy being shocked by the kiss that had been laid on her lips.

For a moment it was simply lips upon lips, then Alaistë deepened it. Eärwen had been kissed before. A suitor or two had pressed his luck only to become very unlucky, and Eärwen had once kissed a maid who worked in the laundry in exchange for… well, that was old history.

The present was more important. The present involved being kissed by Alaistë with increasing fervour as Eärwen responded with her limited skills (mainly she knew how not to knock teeth.)

She drew it out as much as she knew how to.

Then Alaistë pulled back and Eärwen had to let her go.

“I suppose that is not how the ladies in Tirion show their friendship,” Eärwen asked, needing confirmation, because up until she had been kissed she hadn’t been aware how much she wanted to be kissed by Alaistë. And now kissed she wasn’t going to be happy if she couldn’t kiss her again.

“It is not.” Alaistë confirmed.

“Good…. Um…”

“Because I wanted to,” Alaistë supplied her before she could get the question out. “I’m not sure why. I like you. I like you more than I have liked anyone in my life yet.”

“I see.” Eärwen thought about it. She could inquire more, and pick it to pieces the hows and the whys. It might just be the island and being forced into one another’s company. Eärwen decided she did not want to know and that she would simply go with now. She had two more weeks on Édebar. She should savour them.

So she leaned forward and kissed Alaistë with the best of her ability (no clinking teeth). The chain with Alaistë’s wedding ring swung forward and bumped against Eärwen’s collar bones. She reached up and touched it, Alaistë pulled back from her and together they stared down at the gold ring with its unconventional star sapphire.

“He has a mistress,” Eärwen said, “and I only have two weeks left on the island.”

“I’ll take what I can get. I am well aware that this could be moving too fast,” Alaistë kissed her again, “please tell me to stop.”

“No thank you,” Eärwen wrapped her arms around her so she could not wriggle away if she tried and then kissed her back.