In the Hills of Emerie by Himring

Chapter 2: No-Man, Whom I Prefer Above All Others

Ancalime in the aftermath of Hallacar's declaration of love and the revelation that he is in truth a relative of hers, who had assumed a false identity.

Ancalime sat among her own green hills and wept tears of rage. He had laughed. Not only had she been deceived, but he had laughed before revealing the truth. It was clear that he saw nothing fundamentally wrong with lying to her, making a fool of her, and would do so again, if it suited his purpose and if she was fool enough to let him.

She had, of course, suspected he was not quite the humble shepherd he had introduced himself as—he clearly had more schooling than was common among those who had no choice but to keep flocks—but she had still believed he was not someone who she could have met, outside the hills of Emerie, on an even footing.

‘How else could any wooer find you?’

You are a cousin of mine, Hallacar, and my father favours yours. You could have come to Armenelos and sought an introduction at any time. To be sure, I might have been less approachable there, but it would have been the honest thing to do, if you wished to meet me. Instead you sought me out here in the hills of my home, invading the place where I felt safe and at peace, because you wished to gape at me as a curiosity.

And still he professed to love her and clearly thought that made everything all right, that lying to her, manipulating her, was the fair and noble thing to do, as long as it was done in the name of love. But what kind of love was this, that had no respect for the wishes of the beloved? It was a man’s view of things, her mother would have said, and, as it had turned out, she was, after all, right.

She had almost managed to trust him. Love was neither here nor there, it was trust that was the important, the difficult thing. A wasted effort. He would never even appreciate what he had almost gained, what he had irretrievably lost. He was merely disappointed that she was unwilling to comply with his wishes, after his fervent declarations of love.

‘I love Emerwen and care not now who she may be.’

That was what he claimed. But she was Emerwen Aranel, both shepherdess and princess, and he clearly had not understood either part of her as well as he assumed.

She thought with regret of the songs he had sung to her, from the time when the Edain had been pasturing their flocks out east, before they had crossed the Ered Luin into Beleriand and encountered the Eldar, remembered how he had improvised upon them to make the old songs their own story, his and hers, and themselves the subject of old songs. It had pleased her to be woven into those songs, age-old and yet new, as if he and she were all part of one rich cloth and that cloth stretched all around them and a long way back.

But no, that was just another way of being taken in, an excuse to have another’s will imposed on hers. She would not consent to become merely part of another’s song. It would always be her own song, from now on.

Chapter End Notes

B2MeM 2018 prompt: Initial prompt no. 10: Improvisation: the art or act of playing music, harmonies or variations that are composed on the spot without previously learning them; making it up as you go along