Édebar by Urloth

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Édebar III

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The next waking came with a difference. Eärwen woke up tucked into a bed larger than the one on the fourth floor, arms curled over warm back with one arm gone numb from the weight on it. Alaistë was resting with more pillows propped under her to be comfortable than Eärwen had seen a person need. She hadn’t even known you could request extra pillows. Yet here was Alaistë with about five, most of them propping her stomach.

Eärwen had seen naked women before. Wearing a shift whilst in the ocean was really only for public and strangers. Family and the occasional small outing of friends over taken by the moment and without adult authority to say no to them was another matter.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about this naked woman.

Well she was pregnant.

And Eärwen had engaged –

Eärwen wriggled closer, as close as a pregnant stomach would allow her, and wished that perhaps Alaistë could have slept facing the other way so she could get closer. Not that she was complaining. Alaistë was warm. Her arms were comfortable around her and her body wasn’t too heavy though that might just be the numbness.

Her hair smelled really nice too.

Eärwen let herself grin, probably stupidly, and watched the very dim influence of Telperion take over from the dim mingling outside.

-

They escaped the morning tidal pools and instead took advantage of the low tide to make their way around them towards some of the last natural remaining tidal pools further along the beach. Tarwë trailed them bemused. He’d asked her quietly off to the side if they’d fought again.

She had been happy to say no.

The rocks were slippery and uneven, welcome and familiar. Though sharp and hazardous of course.

She reached out and braced herself on a rock, Alaistë out in front of her, apparently part sea-gull alongside the half goat that Eärwen had originally presumed her to be.

“Oh what’s that?” Alaistë pointed down at where a sea-anemone was seeking prey with cheery bright crimson flare.

“Anemone, they like to lure their prey into their tendrils and sting them to death,” Eärwen enthused, stepping over a dip in the rock where the water had puddled.

“Brilliant, the fauna in Tirion is so boring,” Alaistë beamed at her, then something caught her attention and like a magpie she went to investigate. Eärwen stayed and watched her, taking in the sight of her with new eyes.

“When I first met her she was up an orange tree balancing on branches so thin my first impression was of heart racing fear that she was about to fall and break her neck,” Tarwë commented, catching up behind Eärwen.

“How thin?”

Tarwë stuck out his forefinger.

“Liar,” Eärwen’s heart leapt into her throat just at the thought of balancing on branches… no…sticks that thin.

“In many things but not in this,” Tarwë shielded his eyes. Eärwen wasn’t sure why. It was not actually that much brighter out here than anywhere else on the isle. It did hide the facial cues of his eyes quite well though as he said, “you two have lain together.”

Eärwen’s world stopped dead and she stared at him, unable to read his eyes, his mouth a neutral line. She couldn’t tell a damn thing from his tone either.

“I am not mad, or disgusted,” Tarwë turned his words out gently, “I have my misgivings at the swiftness that this has happened. I know first-hand how fires swiftly lit are the first to die out.”

Eärwen managed a confused enough expression that he mumbled, “a Ñoldor would have understood that analogy.”

“Relationships begun swiftly and hurriedly do not last, or do not prosper,” Tarwë brought his hand down, looking straight down into her arms, “they bring only pain and resentment with the passing of time. What you once thought was the centre of your life becomes the most repulsive existence you wish you could remove but are unable to.”

Eärwen’s stomach sank, it felt like someone had piled sand into her, wet sand that was trying to tear through her stomach. Her legs were filled with it as well, anchoring her in place and her chest was tight. Her throat felt like it was swelling up to twice its size.

“That said, you are only here for half a month more. And in another month we will leave, back to Tirion. You might write but with the distance between you hopefully what is between you will fade into a pleasant memory… or in the worst case scenario become something all the more desirable because you are denied it. Hopefully not. You are not nearly as stupid as myself.”

“Ah,” Eärwen managed.

“I am going to walk down further near the sand. My feet are simply not made for traversing these rocks,” Tarwë held up his hand, clearly not wanting her own opinion or any counter arguments. “Let me stew in my own self confidence that I know exactly what is going to happen in the future and that everything is going to go horribly.”

“That sounds like the sort of thing that could make you throw up blood,” Eärwen retorted.

“I will stew in a peaceful and harmonious fashion.”

-

Tarwë’s words followed Eärwen wherever she went.

She was feeling a little sore by them, and more than a little frustrated that she seemed to have missed out on the hard-headedness that adults complained about in youths her age. Wasn’t she supposed to be pigheadedly stubborn? Instead she listened to his words and stewed.

But she also almost moved herself into Alaistë’s room, only leaving her side to collect a new shift and dress before meeting with her again on the way to the tidal pools. If half a month was all she had left then she would soak up as much of her first love as she could.

So there.

Tarwë did not speak to her of it again. He was his genial, fixated-on-Alaistë’s-height self with his bland diet and his abstinence from alcohol of any variety.

If Alaistë was feeling upset about anything she hid it well, right up until four days before Eärwen was meant to depart.

They went for a walk, Alaistë leading as usual. They did not speak. Or rather any attempts at conversation fell flat. Alaistë seemed distracted, or intensely focused on a singular thing that did not involve Eärwen. The route Alaistë picked out did not head for the trees but led them in meandering circles through shrubbery and the vegetable gardens then right down to the tidal pools and over the rocks till they found purchase on the hillside to walk up onto an area of land they’d not walked on before and perhaps were not allowed near. Eärwen cast her eyes about, further down the hill were small clusters of cottages where she suspected the attendants lived.

Alaistë still had not said a word and Eärwen had reached the end of topics she could use to try and start a conversation safely.

So they stood there, and eventually sat as Alaistë’s feet began to protest the weight on them. It was a beautiful vantage point. They could see the distant violet shimmer of Laurelin’s light amongst Alqualondë’s towers. Eärwen squinted and perhaps it was her imagination but she thought she could see the movement of people on the docks. Not the people persay, but certainly an impression of movement.

But perhaps it was simply her imagination.

She would be returning there… soon. She was excited and relieved but also reluctant. Oh she would not miss the isle, there was only so much kelp salad and tidal pools without actually being tidal pools she could suffer through, but the reason she did not want to leave was sitting right beside her. Silently.

Eärwen drew her knees up as the silence continued and found it was pleasant comfortable thing if she stopped worrying about it. She let her gaze find Alqualondë again, and rested her chin on her knees, thinking of the ways that she could remain in contact with Alaistë when she was gone.

“I don’t think it’s possible that I will ever be able to visit you once I leave,” Alaistë said at last and her shoulders slumped.

Eärwen slipped her arm around Alaistë’s waist, rather than acknowledge the sudden painful tightening in her larynx.

“But really you must. Alqualondë is a far nicer part of the coast than here, I don’t want you thinking that all of the Teleri occupied coast is like this,” she said at last. There was no response, and so clearing her throat Eärwen carried on, “Alqualondë’s warmer for one thing. And the water is bluer… the streets are paved with a stone that comes from the hills which has little shells embedded in it still. It’s brighter… the light is usually violet though some days it seems more aqua and the silver b-b-bells are everywhe–” her voice cracked miserably “really i-it’s beautiful. Please come visit me.”

“But I can’t,” Alaistë turned her head away, “I have my son and this child soon to be born. I have to maintain my husband’s household. I have to make up for my absence and my breakdown. I have duties…”

“Throw them away. Come live with me. I can take care of you.”

“No, you know that’s not possible, especially not my son.”

She was an awful person, Eärwen thought, not sure if she was thinking of herself or Alaistë. Probably herself. Who asked a woman to throw away her child?

“Take heart Eärwen,” Alaistë wrapped her hand around Eärwen, “at least soon you will be returning home.”

“How can I?” Eärwen found herself sobbing, hand migrating from Alaistë’s grip upwards, her body falling into the embrace that Alaistë opened up for her, only the other’s stomach keeping Eärwen from completely moulding herself to her friend’s body, “I don’t want to go home and get married. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to get married at all now that I’ve met you.”

“Then tell your father no,” Alaistë said simply, “and don’t say such words. I’m a passing fancy.”

“You will never be a passing fancy to me. And it’s not nearly so easy as ‘no’. This is the sort of situation where the only unacceptable answer is no, I can tell, there’s too much at stake for me to say no. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

-

Whatever foul wind had brought Eärwen’s emotional distress continued when she awoke after the next mingling. Or rather she was woken by an attendant, earlier than usual, who had come to inform her there was a guest for her waiting in one of the guest parlours.

She traversed her way down the stairs, wondering if it might be one of her sisters come to collect her early, which brightened her thoughts only for them to dim again at the thought of leaving without a chance to say goodbye to Alaistë.

What if it was her brother?

He had sent her two more letters since his first but she had not even opened them. She had not thrown them out either. But they sat unwanted at the bottom of the travel trunk her clothing had been packed in.

She felt awkward at the thought of having to face him face to face, but then reassured herself that Mairolwë never left the city. He had too many duties.

Likewise her parents.

So whom?

All the attendant could say was that it was a guest who had said they were calling upon her.

She descended the stairs and went to a part of the sanctuary she had not actually been in the entire month of her stay. She knew that somewhere along here were large prayer rooms where the light could be completely shut out and large cushions covered the floor. Tarwë had availed himself or rather been convinced to avail himself of one of the sessions held in there. He had reported that there had been a great deal of incense and humming and he had indeed felt substantially calmer leaving than when he had gone in.

But they were along the side of the building that faced inwards across the land, and the parlours where those wanting to visit sanctuary inhabitants faced towards the ocean.

The attendant opened the door for her and she stepped in to see a man… a very beautiful man, watching the water and that distant spark that was Alqualondë, which the window afforded a good view of.

Even in Édebar’s gloom he glowed. He was fair, in skin and his hair, his simple travelling braid unable to conceal the myriad shades of gold brushed through it. His profile was proud but not harsh, it was softened to a beauty that was distinctly unfeminine. He was tall, one of the tallest men she had seen. Her head only likely came to his shoulder.

He was not unfamiliar to her. In fact she did know him, at a distance despite the closeness of their paths in life. He had first come to Alqualondë as a child with his family. Eärwen had been too young to see them then, confined to the nursery even for meals since she had been at a precocious age where food was also a missile in her hands. However her brother had brought back stories of him; his bright and beautiful new friend.

And thereafter he had returned to their house, sometimes with an accompaniment because his family could not come with him, and then when he was older he came simply by himself.

He was her brother’s closest companion; Mairolwë’s dearest friend with whom he shared a long and intensive discourse that kept the messengers between Alqualondë and Tirion well exercised and employed.

She must have sat at the same table at him hundreds of times but never had she shared more than a light distant discussion of the weather with him.

“Princess Eärwen,” he saw her, turned, bowed to her and offered her his hand in greeting.

“Prince Arafinwë,” she curtseyed to the same depth as his bow and took his hand, warm and with silver rings upon nearly all of his fingers, “greetings to you and what brings you here to isolated Édebar. I was unaware that you would have any concerns up here. Have you come from Alqualondë?”

“Ah, I have missed hearing Telerin. I came here straight from Tirion. Your brother said it’s unlikely you’ve been reading his letters last time he wrote to me, but he did say he would tell you that I was going to visit you,” he kissed the back of her hand and her skin chilled all over, the fine hairs rising up in prickling unease.

Arafinwë gestured for her to take a seat in one of the modest chairs that occupied the room. There wasn’t actually a lot in the guest parlour. Three chairs, a table, a faded rug, and a small bureau like the one from the bedrooms with requisite paper and ink.

“Why would you come and visit me Prince Arafinwë?” Eärwen asked, “we do not know one another. I can’t say we do not have shared concerns since your brother has been trying to arrange our….” Her voice trailed off and her hands flapped rather than actually say the word. Arafinwë wasn’t sitting, forcing her to look up at him, mentally noting his eyes were a nice dark shade of blue that was familiar though she couldn’t place it.

Arafinwë’s head tilted, his gaze pinned on her. It was an uncomfortable situation.

“I think you can send the attendant away now,” he said instead of answering her.

Eärwen glanced over her shoulder. The attendant stood just inside the closed door. Watching them.

“Actually I would rather she stay here,” she didn’t feel happy at the idea of being alone with Arafinwë for all his inclinations.

“But I am here to talk about our marriage,” Arafinwë smiled widely. Eärwen’s stomach dropped right out of her body and her heart jumped in her chest so hard that her ribs ached.

“P-please leave,” she asked the attendant who looked at her then at Prince Arafinwë.

“I shall be out in the corridor,” with a bow the attendant left and Eärwen was alone with Arafinwë. Her skin began to crawl just at the thought and her palms began to sweat.

“I do enjoy hearing the use of Thorn without it being a political gesture,” Arafinwë mused.

“O-oh?” Eärwen floundered and nodded, “well that is nice but why-“

“Do you know that when I started using the thorn in Quenya and claimed it was a habit picked up in Alqualondë that my father smiled at me for the first time without any sort of resentment? It was almost… a thankful smile.”

“Ah…” Eärwen’s mouth opened then shut.

“Why did you tell me this?” the non sequitur was like a punch to her stomach. She was left wordless and stunned. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do or how to reply appropriately. It was too much information; unwanted and personal information that made Eärwen feel uncomfortable with this near stranger she’d known for years.

“Arawen thinks that part of the reason that you’re so unhappy at the thought of marrying me is that you aren’t close to me and do not know me well. So there. As a gesture of…whatever this is. Arawen is very naïve.”

Eärwen’s tongue felt heavy but she was piqued, “you write to Arawen Prince Arafinwë?”

“I write to all your siblings, not just your brother. Why do you think Umëawen has managed to do so well in Tirion? Information for her good behaviour when I visit Alqualondë. And Arawen’s husband has a gambling habit that your brother and I cover for when he visits the mainland. In fact you’re the only one of your siblings I’ve never had regular contact with,” Arafinwë considered her, taking a seat and Eärwen was disgusted to note that closer to her he was just as beautiful as her first impression.

“I thought you would simply nod and do what your parents told you to,” he leaned back into the chair, “you have always been so normal, what I’ve noticed of you. Eager to please and happy to be coddled. You’re like my brother’s children I think, if I was going to draw an analogy to anyone in my family.”

Eärwen bristled, “I am finding your tone and words to be offensive. Please state what you want to say to me.”

“Very well. I want you to marry me,” Arafinwë looked her up and down, “my brother’s idea has merit and my father gave it a passing nod. I doubt he actually was listening to what Ñolofinwë was saying. All he probably heard was “Arafinwë” and “stop the rumours.”

“That’s a little unfair to your father, I doubt he would have missed the fact that your brother was talking about your marriage,” Eärwen shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I do not want to marry you.”

“So I supposed with your sudden… vacation I should have guessed that. You do not care then, what this could mean for your brother?”

“Appealing to me about my brother will not work. I hate him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be sad to hear that, you are his favourite sister after all.”

Eärwen’s heart twinged but only for a moment and then anger took over. “I do not care. He is free to have favourites but I am not obliged to help him from the situation that he and you have gotten yourselves into through your own stupidity and selfishness.”

“Selfishness?” there was a subtle shift in Arafinwë’s voice. It made the prickling in Eärwen’s skin intensify. “it is not for someone like you who is loved and cherished by her family to talk about selfishness. Your brother gave up his dreams and his hopes for your family. He married his wife and ceased to smile and laugh honestly any more. I am not a fair-weather friend to turn my back on the only person who has ever valued my existence without any sort of resentment. You have been given everything in your life that you have desired yet when you were called upon to do a favour for your family you ran away”

“My mother sent me here,” Eärwen snapped.

“Clearly it’s not for anything serious since she sent you to a dingy, poor sanctuary on a miserable mudflat instead of sending you to Lorien,” Arafinwë dismissed.

“And I will be returning from this mudflat with the firm decision in my mind that I will not marry you!” Eärwen retaliated, “I know Mairolwë doesn’t love her but he had the right to say no to marrying her just like I have the right to say no! Right now and when I return to Alqualondë! No. I am not giving up my chance to find love …”

Alaistë her too swiftly caught and too young heart called out.

“…give up my chance to find love,” she foundered, repeating her last words with her voice dropping away at the tiny sneer directed at her.

“Love?” Arafinwë mocked her, “do not tell me you believe in the childhood idiocy that there is some great love out there waiting for you.  No such thing exists. There are loves and lovers to be had certainly, but if you think marrying for love is possible then you are wrong. Marriage is the death of love which will eventually die and leave only resentment and anger. It is better for you to marry as best you can and find your love elsewhere. Especially for someone like you!”

“How dare you!” Eärwen yelled, to her feet in an instant.

“The only suitors that you will ever have will be men who see the greatest social coupe that Alqualondë can offer them. Just like your sister’s to their husbands, you will be simply a stepping stool for that man to gain power and wealth. Grow up Princess, and open your eyes to the fact that you will receive no better offer than my own!”

Arafinwë caught her shoulder and pushed her down, strength so much greater than her own that she was forced to oblige though not before she had dug her fingernails into his wrist so deeply that she smelled iron.

“You come from a family infamous for its love,” she snapped, “your father is the one to whom loves happiness came twice.”

“Oh that’s what they say in public,” Arafinwë flicked his hand in dismissal, beautiful smile on his face that was bitter and angry “and in private we are Father’s greatest mistake and shame. We are proof of his shortcomings and his weaknesses; evidence of how sad and pathetic he is.  My father doesn’t drink alcohol because of me and Lalwende,” Arafinwë’s bitter smile was now fully sour, “he doesn’t touch it. Not a drop. He doesn’t trust her, my mother. He’s a worthless creature who killed his first wife to marry a woman whom he doesn’t love any more, didn’t love since before his third child was born, and had to be drugged to conceive his youngest children. He lets his wife hit him and lets her break priceless belongings and doesn’t do a damn thing. That is the “great happiness” that came to my father.”

“You are disgusting,” Eärwen whispered, unable to comprehend quite what filth had been spilled before her. Unable to look away or shut her mind to the words.

 “If you marry me I promise I will never send you to a place like this ever. No matter how hysterical you get,” Arafinwë had an ugly smile she decided. It didn’t matter how it glowed, nor how beautiful he was. Ugly.

It was an awful ugly smile. No matter how kind he forced it to be, no matter how warm or how it lit up his perfect features like someone had found a way to illuminate alabaster from within, it was ugly.

“I won’t marry you,” she forced herself to say.

“I am your best choice,” Arafinwë returned, “but if your mind is set I suppose I will leave you to convince your parents yourself. Your brother did not win. What makes you think you will? Since I am in the territory I must make my regards to your parents-”

“You mean you will be visiting my brother, Eärwen couldn’t help the curl of her lip, even as her voice shook “don’t bother lying. If you want me to marry you, do me the greatest favour of respecting my intelligence.”

Arafinwe shrugged but his eyebrows had drawn together, “shall I relay a message to your parents then Princess?”

“Tell them I am still unsettled and I wish to stay another month.” Arafinwe was truly frowning at her now.

“Leave first so I can compose myself lest everyone know that Arafinwë Finwion is a bully who makes young girls cry,” Eärwen commanded in her best authoritative voice which was ruined by the way she was trembling from head to toe now.

Arafinwe had at least the decency to look ashamed and he left the room without another word.

Eärwen counted to thirty in her head, ignoring the attendant who had entered when Arafinwë opened the door and who was hovering.

She rose, feeling like her legs had become jelly, and walked to the corridor with her mind set upon reaching her rooms. Each step was unsteady. The distance to her rooms, which had taken her perhaps six minutes to walk from, suddenly became a marathon that she had to hold onto her surging emotions throughout.

Eärwen made it to the great hall and saw a familiar dark head behind a flowering Laurelin’s-kiss vine  turn, dark blue eyes meeting hers.

Tarwë had been sitting in one of the wicker chairs, semi-hidden. Now he rose, stepping out behind the vine and glancing in the direction of the large main doors which were open to let in the sea air. Eärwen supposed that Arafinwë had left in that direction. Someone like him, so beautiful and noble, would have drawn any ones attention.

He could have at least worn a cloak, Eärwen managed to think resentfully.

“Who was that?” Tarwë asked her gently, “if I might inquire.”

Eärwen looked around.

The hall was empty as it always tended to be in the morning. She supposed everyone was in the tidal pools floating.

Thinking about nothing.

Clearing their minds.

“My parents want me to marry him,” she mumbled.

“I take it by your demeanour that you do not so wish for such a bond,” Tarwë had the most soothing voice. She hoped he used it for good when he was about his normal life. The life far away from here on this isle. Far away with Alaistë as his daughter, even if it was by marriage. A life where he protected Alaistë and kept her from harm, and where at least Alaistë was not alone in her loneliness. A life Eärwen didn’t have a part in.

“No,” she swallowed. Her head was still ringing from his words and her eyes were hot and wet.

She blinked furiously, yes furious, that was a good word. It welled up unexpectedly, a bilic surge of heat straight from her heart.

She would later say it was as though Melkor had taken a hold of her heart. A hate took hold of her, profound and deep. It surged hot and she wished Arafinwë and her brother harm.

“He’s a catamite,” she hissed out because trying to talk would lead to tears or screaming, she wasn’t sure which, “who lets my married brother, who is also a catamite, fuck him.”

There was the minutest of flinches from Tarwë, nothing more than a slight ripple in his frame.

“A CATAMITE!” Eärwen roared, control lost, “A CATAMITE AND AN ADULTERER. AND MY PARENTS WANT ME TO MARRY HIM.”

 Tarwë’s hand came down on her shoulder and it was warm and reassuring. It didn’t squeeze or try and halt the words spilling out of her. She leaned into it.

“I hate him, I hate both of them,” she sucked in air which hurt as it struggled past her closed throat, “I hate them. And I hate my parents. And I hate his. They’re the ones that came up with this. I hate all of them.”

Tarwë turned her carefully towards him and she buried her face against the dark cloth of his tunic and began to cry. The tears were weak at first but then suddenly her eyes were flooded and the shaking in her limbs became so bad she would have collapsed if Tarwë’s other arm had not come around her and kept her up. A wretched noise filled the air but she couldn’t have controlled the horrific howling from her throat if she’d tried.

She really did hate them.

Her brother whom she’d once respected, and Arafinwë whom she’d never bothered to know but had also respected, and her parents who only cared for her brother’s reputation, and Arafinwë’s parents who were concerned for their own son and Ñolofinwë who flew into Alqualondë like an omen bearing crow to push and push and push for the match to be made..

What about her?

Why did she have to be the one to give up her life for this?

She cried and she howled and she almost didn’t notice the attendant, her attendant, coming over and carefully taking her by the arm. With Tarwe’s help the attendant guided her to one of the quiet dark rooms she’d only heard about, with soft cushions on the floor and incense still thick in the air, where she was allowed to curl up and keep crying without being stopped.

Sometime later when she had cried herself out the attendant returned. There were other attendants with her, another woman and a man. The man picked her up and carried her back to her rooms. Around his shoulder she saw the two women begin opening large windows into the pitch black room, letting thin, liquid light to illuminate moss green cushions, one of which had a large dark patch on it from Eärwen’s tears.

She was laid on her bed and the attendant bid her to call if she required assistance, and that he would just be in the corridor, before leaving her.

Eärwen drank a glass of water because her headache would not allow her to lie down without doing so, and then she let the chill of her sheets against her too-hot cheek draw her into sleep.

She woke up to a soft hand stroking her hair.

“Hello,” Alaistë whispered, stroking back wisps of hair from Eärwen’s face, “it’s been a whole turn of the trees.”

Eärwen sat bolt upright in response to that.

That was precious time! Time she could not afford to be lost! She didn’t know if she’d be allowed the extra month. Well she’d phrased it as a demand but she had no idea how or if her wish would reach Alqualondë.

Memories of what she’d said to both Arafinwë and Tarwë came back to her and she felt shame run through her as well as a deep pang of fear at the possible repercussions.

Alaistë’s face was hagrid, there was no other way to describe it. It was paled and her eyes had deep bruised bags beneath them. The hands touching Eärwen were trembling lightly.

“I’m sorry,” Eärwen whispered, catching them in her own. Small, just like she’s noticed the first time they’d met, and so delicate. Alaistë’s wedding ring had been jammed onto the correct finger, a painful looking sight where the metal pinched the swollen digit.

“It’s not that,” Alaistë’s mouth trembled as she tried to smile. Eärwen’s stomach dipped in dread.

“What’s wrong?” Eärwen forced herself up, tugging

It took Alaistë a few tries but at last she managed to whisper “my husband is here.”

Oh no.

Eärwen began to shake, just as much as Alaistë. She rallied herself to pull the older woman into her arms, squeezing tightly.

“He’s in our rooms so I came up here because I knew you would not mind. He and father are talking. They will be a while.”

“Alright.”

Alaistë fretted against her, “he can’t make us go back,” she mumbled into Eärwen’s shoulder, “don’t worry.”

But that did nothing for Eärwen. She would worry. She would worry until the mysterious husband was gone.

Of a like mind they lay back against the bed. It was thinner than Alaistë’s bed on the second floor. That did not matter as they stripped wraps and pushed up their shifts, pressing their bodies tightly together as though to mesh into each other’s skin.

Alaistë kissed hard enough that Eärwen’s lips were aching from the force and she had to make a protesting noise. Alaistë pulled back after that but her touch was ravenous, and there was a desperation to how she moved, hands running all over Eärwen’s body.

Memorising it.

Don’t worry Alaistë had said. How was Eärwen supposed to do anything but?

-

She rose from the tangle nest of dresses and sheets. Alaistë caught her by the wrist.

“I am just going to the lavatory,” Eärwen whispered, pulling on a shift and finding her wrap amongst the mess.

“Alright, come back quickly,” Alaistë’s eyes were heavy lidded and she looked so warm and comfortable that Eärwen almost gave up and crawled back to her.

She did leave though, and as she closed the door quietly behind her she heard Alaistë whisper “liar” after her.

The words scored a direct hit. Eärwen shrugged her shoulders, feeling a weight upon them that she could not see the source of. It was not to the lavatory that she went but down the stairs to the second floor.

The door was shut.

She swallowed and pressed her hands against the wood, finding that they were shaking. She couldn’t bring herself to knock or to simply open it. Instead she knelt, and wretched with fear but also a consuming need to know, she pressed her ear against the door.

“She had a fit of rage. I have a list of a damages—“ the voice was familiar but placing it was hard when Eärwen’s heart was up in her ears. She knew though that it had to be the husband. It was not Tarwë whose voice she now knew well.

“No matter,” Tarwë interrupted the husband; his son, “I learned my lessons from her long ago. Everything of value to me that I have left is either locked up in the attic or is in the treasure house at Formenos. Just have the servants clean up the mess and arrange for any repairs – I assume that my damage has taken the brunt of it.”

“And your sleeping quarters.”

“Funny how she never has her fits of rage in her own quarters,” Tarwë drew out in a musing voice, “very well. How is your brother?”

“A-“

“I saw him yesterday as I told you. Your other brother.”

“He is fine,” the voice sounded aggrieved and angry, not very much but it was a distinct undercurrent, “Nerdanel’s pregnancy progresses healthily.”

Nerdanel? Eärwen looked at the architrave as she tried to place the familiar name.

“And the rumours?”

“Unfortunately they have not quieted.”

“All of them?”

“Indeed, both run rampant… in fact those about Tyelkormo are growing stronger.”

Tarwë sighed.

“Fëanáro is handling my duties well?”

“Just fine. There have been no riots.”

F…Fëanáro? High Prince Fëanáro Curufinwë?

Eärwen pulled back in confusion and stared at the door.

Why would Tarwë be giving duties to his prince?

“Alright thank you for coming to see me. I am sorry you did not intercept him before he got here. Go collect you brother from Mairolwë‘s marriage bed please and be discrete about it. I am happy to have Findis’ company for the final month of my stay. Don’t come back here when you return to Tirion. Anairë was quite distressed when she saw you.”

Eärwen scrabbled away from the door, missing the angry words that retorted the jibe.

The world span around her. Her feet staggered under her, unable to coordinate as she tried to get down the hallway enough that it seemed she’d not been eavesdropping.

She wasn’t fast enough. The door opened.

“Princess Eärwen?” Prince Ñolofinwë of Tirion looked at her in surprise, eyes wide. Ah yes, that was where she had seen Arafinwë's eyes before. Behind him Tarwë looked at her with eyes exactly the same as his two youngest sons.  His expression was resigned… sad. Her eyes searched his and she saw regret also before the King… the King of Tirion placed his hand on Prince Ñolofinwë’s shoulder, “the Princess has been good company this past month. She has become good friends with your wife Ñolofinwë.”

“Oh…. Oh! Thank you Princess, that is wonderful to hea-“

“However she has her own business to attend to,” Tar…F…..F… King… Finwë tilted his head and smiled, “we can’t keep her.”

Eärwen swallowed and nodded, feet turning under her without her notice and she fled in an orderly fashion, back straight and trying not to look like she was trying to get away from them as quickly as possible. She fled up the stairs and to her room and shut the door.

Alaistë rose up on her arms and looked at her, distraught. There were tear tracks on her friend and lover’s face.

“You lied to me,” Eärwen said weakly and the words were instantly regretted.

“Do you really think it would go down well to know that Princess Anairë’s breakdown was so severe that the King of Tirion personally took her away?” Ala… Anairë…

“Anairë,” Eärwen said out loud. It was stranger’s name, known passingly from royal announcements. She had not gone to the marriage of Prince Ñolofinwë. She had been invited to swim with the handmaidens of Uinen and one did not pass up such an opportunity. She had however attended the marriage of Prince Fëanáro, truly a child then, and that was where she remembered the name Nerdanel from she realised.

“Anairë…. It was right there for me to see. I thought my Quenya was failing me when I couldn’t figure out your name but it was all right there. Alaistë and Tarwë. You must have th-th-thought I was such a fool.”

“No,” Al…Ala….A…the stranger on the bed’s voice rose in the high squeaky way that a voice tended to go when tears were being wrestled back, “no I never thought that. Please. Please believe me. I wanted to be Alaistë. I wanted to be normal and I wanted to be someone who wasn’t Anairë. And you fell in love with Alaistë and I couldn’t… I thought if I told you you would stop. Eärwen…Eärwen please…”

There was a thump and the rustle of cloth. The stranger pulled herself off the bed and crawled over to her, dragging a sheet after her. Warm arms pressed her to a warmer chest. Eärwen couldn’t cry properly, she had no tears left after the meeting with Arafinwë. She struggled but her strength was gone from her. She just sagged after a while, pretending Alaistë still existed and it was her whispering comforting nonsense into her hair.

-

Eärwen had never met someone so … gaunt. Truly Princess Findis did not look as though she should be able to stand. Her fashionable dress did not hide how prominent her collarbones were, nor the emaciated stretch of her neck and her sunken cheeks were not camouflaged by her blusher. Her arms had a strange fuzz across them, when they emerged from her sleeves so that she could clasp their hands together in greeting.

The princess hair was a middling brown colour, dull, and seemed to be thinning though the swept up fashionable style might have been the reason for that impression with all the lengths of hair being pulled in every which direction.

Anairë was a silent presence behind her, head lowered and not speaking to anyone.

Tar… King Finwë was watching them, eyebrows furrowed deeply. He was looking pale and his plate of steamed vegetables was untouched, as was his water. As the two women took a seat at the already set shaded table, he pressed his hand against his stomach and excused himself with a grimace of pain.

Both Findis and Anairë watched him go with worried expressions, glancing to one another with a shared knowing that had jealousy surging in Eärwen before she could help herself.

“Princess Eärwen,” Princess Findis’ voice was as whispy as her presence, “I have heard a lot about you. Mainly from Ñolofinwë which means it is second hand knowledge. I have heard that you might become betrothed to my younger brother.”

“That is something that has been discussed,” Eärwen watched Findis’ cutlery push food around the plate without touching it. She wasn’t able to maintain eye contact with any of them.

“Please do not.”

Eärwen’s head came up in surprise.

“Our family, please run away now while you can,” Findis gave her a serene smile that was a perfect copy of her father’s. “We are a horrible lot and we only seem to exist to make our spouses terribly unhappy. Well all of us save Fëanáro. But I suppose he doesn’t count as our family. He holds himself apart from us all.”

Anairë sighed and pressed her fingers together, “Findis it’s not that bad.”

“Yes it is,” Findis shook her head, “My husband has already parted from me, his passion spent within the first year of our marriage. Ñolofinwë throws you around and commits adultery with our own cousin in Taniquetil. Lalwendë enjoys drowning kittens or pulling the wings off butterflies, and is regularly taken into the care of Nienna in the hopes she will eventually learn compassion and Arafinwë is… well his personality is nice but any woman marrying him isn’t really marrying him is she? She’s marrying a lie. Never mind mother and father.”

That serene smile was turned on Eärwen, “have I shocked and horrified you yet?”

“I had not heard about your sister but the rest I have an inkling of,” Eärwen replied hoarsely, shivering in her seat, “well...  I did not know that his mistress was his cousin also.”

“Indeed. Our mother’s sister’s daughter. See? Anairë?”

There was a sad sigh. Earwen's heart broke inside her chest at the noise. It had been labouring since she had confronted her but now it shattered completely.

“She is right, you should refuse.”

Eärwen glanced to the side at her. Anairë’s shoulders were slumped and her face was half covered by her loose hair.

“I agree. Pardon me,” Finwë returned. He looked ragged and when he reached for his glass of water Eärwen spotted a fresh blood stain on the hem of his sleeve.

“They say I am one to whom happiness has come twice. Do I not look that way to you Princess Eärwen?”

“Not at all,” Eärwen shook her head.

“Such honesty,” Finwë chuckled, “I will miss you.”

“Yes,” Eärwen pressed her hands together to stop their trembling, “I will miss you as well.”

-

One cycle of the trees later Eärwen received a message from Alqualondë. Her request to stay another month had been agreed to. Please take care, her mother ended the letter.

It was very formal.

She looked for any hidden familial words but could not find them.

Her mother had probably been in a hurry. She had many duties to attend to after all.

She had missed the morning tidal pools. Her skin felt strange for not having laid in the water for so long and her head buzzed with thoughts she wished she could empty out of her mind.

Instead she roamed through the empty main hall, heart empty and mind buzzing.

“Hello.”

She paused and looked over her shoulder at Anairë who stood cautiously behind a potted lily-of-peace, watching her.

“Good morning,” Eärwen managed.

Anairë swallowed, watching her still.

“I….I have been allowed to stay another month,” Eärwen said.

Only a few wakings prior it would have been a source of joy but now? Now what would she do?

“Ah look at that!” a voice loud and clear as a bell carried across the space and had them both spinning towards the doors, “we do not have to look for you at all.”

A man was striding in, a fussing attendant dogging him. He had a toddler on one hip, and saddlebags over his arm. His clothing was as plain as a farmer’s, in fact Eärwen saw a scorch mark on the hem. His skin was dark gold save a spray of white across his nose and cheeks like inverted freckles.

He was…beautiful.

The beauty of Arafinwë the day before or the passing noted beauty of Ñolofinwë was nothing compared to this.

It was as though Laurelin had somehow had a son, a son with eyes as bright as silver molten in the crucible, and a smile wide and prompting you to smile back no matter how you felt.

“He..hello?” Eärwen managed.

“Greetings to you,” the stranger looked at her with a raised eyebrow but his attention was on Anairë who smiled weakly up at him, eyes flicking to the child reaching for her with surprise.

“A gift to you, dear lady, a week early from your begetting day.”

The wriggling toddler was dumped in Anairë’s arms.

“You didn’t tell me your begetting day was in a week,” Eärwen said, stunned still.

“You aren’t going to be here,” Anairë whispered, kissing a small hand which reached demandingly for her. “Findekáno did you miss me?” she asked softly.

“Ammë,” the child beamed at her then his face crumpled and his eyes bluer than imaginable filled with tears. Clinging with arms wrapped around Anairë’s neck she was the centre of the little one’s world.

“I missed you too,” Anairë hugged her son and let Eärwen take the bag that Fëanáro proffered, likely filled with the child’s clothing.

“Wonderful. It will be worth Ñolofinwë’s moods having seen this. Now, who are you?” Eärwen was pinned with a bright stare.

“…E…Eärwen…Olwiel…” Eärwen managed a curtsey.

“Ah, I know you. Though last I saw you you didn’t come up to my hip. And now you are Ñolofinwë’s unfortunate prey in his hunt to marry off Arafinwë. Do not do it.” Her hands were clasped in warm hands rough with callouses, “a pleasure to meet you Princess. Take care of my sister while she and you share accommodations here.”

“Oh..of..of course…” Eärwen nodded, overwhelmed, but caught the way that Anairë turned her head away.

“Brilliant. She is in good hands. I can see that already. Then I’ll take my leave, I need to get back before Ñolofinwë returns and figures out what I’ve done. Anairë,” a kiss was laid on Anairë’s cheek, “princess Eärwen,” a kiss landed on Eärwen’s cheek before she could react, and the stranger was out the door.

“He didn’t introduce himself,” Eärwen managed weakly, hand raising to where her cheek was still warm.

“Fëanáro,” Anairë supplied.

“What was that on his face? The white spots.”

“Welding scars… he calls them his welding freckles. He was stupid once upon a time not to wear face protection. He was lucky not to lose his eyes.”

“Th-the child?”

“My son… Findekáno,” Anairë raised her chin proudly.

Eärwen nodded, still dazed and hefted the saddle bags on her arm onto her shoulder, reaching for Anairë’s hand unthinkingly.

Anairë glanced at her, one arm full of a sobbing child, and her chin wobbled.

“Don’t cry when your son is crying,” Eärwen tried to deflect, squeezing Anairë’s hand in her own.

“You hate me now,” Anairë’s voice rose. Confused out of crying, her son stopped his own sobbing to raise his head and look at his mother.

“I don’t hate you,” Eärwen squeezed the hand in her grasp again, “I… I…. I am just….still…recovering from the shock.”

She walked with Anairë up to the second floor, glancing from time to time at her… companion. Anairë didn’t look at her once.

“I’ve extended my stay,” Eärwen blurted out as they stepped into the bedroom.

Anairë did not drop her son... quite. She managed to make it a controlled put down onto the bed where Findekáno proceeded to inspect the many pillows before reaching up and digging his hands into his mother’s skirt. Eärwen could understand the sentiment. She didn’t want to let go of Anairë either when she had her in her arms.

“I have another month here… as long as your own stay,” Eärwen continued, “I… I don’t want to leave and have you think I hate you. I don’t want to leave with …this between us. We have a month to put things right.”

“A month,” Anairë whispered almost reverently, “a month’s reprieve.”

“And then at the end of the month…we can part ways, hopefully as friends and you will come visit me.”

“O-oh,” Anairë reached out, grabbed her sleeve and tugged her over, grip weak but Eärwen happy to let her tow her in.

“In a month I have to go back to Alqualondë, and I have to decide whether Arafinwë is right and I should marry him,” Eärwen continued, “but I think in a month I should know whether there is something to his family that makes me want to stay.”

“Don’t marry him to stay close to me,” Anairë whispered to her.

Eärwen looked at her, thinking about that. It would be a stupid decision to make, based off a mere two months knowing one another, the first month of which had been under deception on both their parts.

“To know that if I married him that there would be a friend amongst his family waiting for me,” she said instead, “one that I have great love for, would make the sacrifice easier to bear. It is not something I think that I will easily be able to avoid. But knowing you, some of my fears are lifted.”

Anairë reached for her waist and wrapped her arms around it. Findekáno took the opportunity to wriggle his little hands into their sashes and pull himself onto his feed, giggling at his achievement.

“Let us make a vow,” Anairë said firmly, “whether we continue as lovers or as friends. Let us vow loyalty to one another, let us promise to never lie nor deceive the other again, and when one suffers the other will be there by their side.”

“I can vow that,” Eärwen pressed their mouths together lightly, “a vow under Eru’s gaze?”

Anairë shook her head, “under Lady Uinen’s. This is her land which has brought us together, let her watch over us from this day forth.”

---

Chapter End Notes

Tarwë - King (Tar) + unisex name ending (wë)
Alaistë - Not (Ala) + Holy (aistë) to play off Anairë - Holiest