Arátellë by Scribe of Mirrormere

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Chapter 1

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“Come on, Arakáno! If you do not do this now, you’ll never work up the nerve!”

Írissë smiled down at her brother. The young frowning Noldo looked up at her, who was swinging upside down from the tree branch with ease as though she were one of the leaves. She was older than him but younger than their two brothers, and the two often traveled or hunted together.

“Doesn’t the threat of Melkor frighten you?” he asked. “How can you even think of playing around at a time like this?”

“It’s not playing around,” Írissë said. “Think of this as practice for the big war.” She pivoted to get a better look at him. “You’re just as careful as I am, brother! Just learn how to jump from tree to tree. You never know if it’ll come useful in battle. For all you know, Melkor may be hiding inside a tree right here in this dark forest while everyone else is away lamenting what to do to avenge our Trees!”

“Doubt that,” Arakáno mumbled just as the sound of hooves signaled they had a visitor.

“Írissë!”

“Callë?”

Írissë threw herself upwards, somersaulted in midair and landed neatly on her feet just as her childhood friend dismounted her horse. She did not hug the tall woman as they often did, not after seeing the crazed look in Callë’s eyes. For as long as Írissë knew her, Callë was such an excitable soul, always ready to spar or to head out for an adventure. It was what had drawn them to one another as small children many decades ago, making them a formidable duo among the other Noldor. As tall as Írissë was, Callë was even taller, her hair cut short as she couldn’t be bothered combing it daily.

Callë regarded Írissë and Arakáno both with a fevered, eager expression, her entire body quivering, perhaps with a thought of running back - to where, Írissë could only guess.

“You seem…excited,” Írissë commented cautiously, wondering what sort of mischief they would be getting into now.

Callë sucked in a deep breath. “Your uncle, Írissë. Never have I heard words that spurred me into quicker action!”

“Oh, great!” Írissë laughed. “What is he up to now?”

“As of right now, we’re at war! He called us to arms. He’s right; the longer we tarry the greater the chance of us losing against Moringotto.”

“Moringotto,” Írissë tasted the word on her tongue, darkly thick, rather appropriate for their shared foe. “Good choice, Uncle Fool Fire.”

“But are the Valar not planning on an attack of their own?” Arakáno spoke up.

“They are taking too long,” Callë said. “Come, Írissë, Arakáno! We must make haste!”

“Haste is waste,” Arakáno mumbled loud enough for only Írissë to hear. “I do not like the sound of this. Uncle isn’t always the most sensible of men in Valinor, and you know that.”

“There may be more to the story,” Írissë said. “I do not love him and his children; Callë and yourself are better people in my eyes. But my half-uncle’s family are truly amusing, and I love being around Tyelkormo and Curufinwë to just secretly laugh at them, though they can be trouble. Still, Fëanáro may have a point…”

They got to their horses and followed Callë eastward, past the streets of Túna where Fëanáro had given his rousing speech. There were still a few elves who remained, many regarding the passersby with solemn eyes. Írissë waved a hand to them, thinking their expressions were that of worry, for they were heading straight towards war. She felt for the dagger at her side and eyed the bow and quiver of arrows set against her horse’s side. Then she made certain Arakáno too had a weapon on hand. Ever since the Darkening, the night sky had carried a sense of danger, as though long black claws would swoop down and crush them; Írissë could not remember a time she felt safe since the Darkening. The danger always loomed right over their heads.

They rode on in silence once they left Tirion behind and approached the coast, following the tracks left by the host of the Noldor. Studying the long rows of footprints and hoofmarks, Írissë was about to ask Callë how many had followed Fëanáro when Arakáno gave a gasp.

“What is that?” Arakáno screamed as the chaotic clashes of metal and enraged voices met their ears. They kicked their horses into a sprint closer towards the source, their hands going straight for their weapons and ready to face Moringotto’s army.

But there were only the Eldar at the shores of Alqualondë, which stilled Írissë, Callë, and Arakáno, all confused as to the sight of the strife before them. Írissë scanned the entire length of the shore, trying to pick out just one of Moringotto’s foes or Moringotto himself. But there were only elves, the Teleri slaughtered like cattle by her own people. The three of them exchanged uneasy looks, and Írissë sought for one of the houses near the shore. From this distance she could make out a slender form, a long dress and unbraided hair, both billowing in the wind.

Írissë called out Eärinë’s name as she ran to her, the footsteps of Arakáno and Callë following muted by the battle on the shore.

“Eärinë, what is going on here?”

“Arátellë!” Eärinë cried out the epessë she had given Írissë in their youth. “Oh, Arátellë, be careful!”

Seeing that Eärinë was shaking with tears, Írissë embraced her tightly. Arakáno ran up behind them, tentatively placing a hand in comfort on Eärinë’s shoulder. Írissë had always suspected a love connection grew between them, so she took a step back to allow them to stand together.

“The Noldor…” Eärinë wept, holding Arakáno’s hand tightly. “That awful one, Fëanáro. He took the Noldor to see our leader Olwë so they may take our ships. But Olwë thought it an unwise path to take, seeing how Fëanáro was acting in haste. He refused the ships, and Fëanáro commanded his men to take down as many men as they could!”

“He ordered the Noldor to murder the Falmari?” Írissë cried out incredulously. She turned back to the bloodshed, her own blood turning cold at the sight. “Never has any elf raised a sword to another… save for my uncle against my father, but he did not slay him. I thought he spoke in anger, not that he could be capable of such evil.”

Next to her, Callë shook with rage. “And his words convinced me, the bastard! I will slit his throat myself is it means it’ll end this!”

“Callë, do not stoop down to his level!” Írissë ordered, glaring at her friend.

Callë’s nostrils flared. “As you say, Arátellë, my noble leader. But do you not see that your own father and brothers also are in this fight?”

“Yes, but there is always more to -”

Eärinë’s shrieks drowned out her words. “Venyanen! Brother, no!”

Before Írissë could stop her, Eärinë had bolted down the steps of her home and straight into battle, Arakáno following closely behind, his shouts carried off in the distance.

Callë turned to Írissë silently, then charged through like a bull. Sighing, Írissë sheathed her dagger and readied her bow and arrow, just in case, though she vowed not to fire an arrow unless she absolutely must.

Then she came closer towards the shore and froze at the sight: Venyanen, on his knees with his head pulled back, silvery hair gripped by the man who stabbed him repeatedly with his long sword, the pool of blood beneath him growing ever wider as Eärinë shrieked and begged for mercy, till at last the sword came around the Falmar’s neck, the gash wide and deep, and he was thrown into the sea. His killer threw his head back, laughing madly just as Eärinë’s agonized shrieks rang out more terrible than the clashes of swords, screaming for the lifeless form drifting nearby, the blood darkening the sea.

Bile rose to Írissë’s throat. For years she had laughed behind Tyelkormo and Curufinwë’s backs and watched their scheming and their trouble-making with amusement. She was even joined by a few of her friends who shared in turning to the elves for entertainment. But never had she thought them capable of such malice and wickedness.

“Tyelkormo.”

Her cousin turned to her, the fire in his eyes as lava, demonic, the pupils as black slits. His laughter chilled her to the very core as he threw out his arms, proudly displaying the blood stains of the Falmari who he had slain.

“See this?” he cried out. “Far more satisfying than hunting game or flying arrows into a target! I should have done this long ago, ha!”

“You sick monster!” Eärinë spat, and grabbing the nearest large pebble, she threw it at his head. More came, accompanied by her shrieks and fevered curses, but it ended soon enough, as it did not take much to set off Tyelkormo. He threw a handful right back at her head, and a moment later red ran down the side of her head.

He made to grab for more, but Callë grabbed his wrist and twisted it until he spat in her face and butted her jaw with his head. They tore at each other, ignoring Írissë’s screams for them to stop, her foot pounding the ground. Shakily, Arakáno tried to pull Eärinë away, studying her injury, but she yanked herself away from his arms and lunged at Tyelkormo with the largest piece of rock she could find, one edge sharp, and pounded his face to the ground.

“Enough!” Tyelkormo’s roar shook the ground as he threw Eärinë and Callë both off himself. He jumped to his feet, his livid face beet red, grabbed for his bow, and pointed an arrow straight at Eärinë.

“Bitch! I would have ripped you in half if I weren’t in a hurry to have you join your brother!”

“Tyelkormo, stop it!” Írissë screamed at the top of her lungs, but she knew it was futile. She rushed to shove Eärinë out of the way, who stood still on the spot, but then Callë appeared, reaching Eärinë just in time before the most sickening sound met Írissë’s ears of cries choked out with blood.

Callë gripped Eärinë tight, using her entire body as a shield. It took Írissë only a moment to see that the arrow had pierced right between Callë’s shoulder blades and reappeared through Eärinë’s own heart. They stood, frozen, Eärinë locked in fear and Callë protecting her, the blood pouring out of their wounds, until Tyelkormo arrogantly strode up to them and with his foot kicked them into the sea.

There was only silence for a moment, and then all of Alqualondë shook with Írissë’s screams. She rushed to the shoreline, screaming out their names, but a part of her mind knew they were dead. She soon heard Arakáno’s weeping as he joined her side, taking in the sight of his beloved Eärinë.

Tyelkormo stood and laughed behind them, shouting out his glee in claiming two more lives.

“Demon! Filth!” Arakáno hissed, turning towards their cousin. “Servant of Moringotto!”

The fire in Tyelkormo’s eyes flared and he pointed his arrow at Arakáno. “Do you wish to reunite with that Falmarin filth, lover-boy?”

In one motion Írissë grabbed Arakáno’s collar, pulled him back roughly, and took his spot, pointing her arrow straight between Tyelkormo’s eyes. Her cousin regarded her for a moment before laughing darkly, and Írissë’s stomach filled with cold anger. Gone were any memories of her and Callë laughing at the foolish cousin. She should have seen it far before, the blood of hell which coursed through his veins.

“Ah, you come to play?” Tyelkormo sneered.

“I vowed to take no elven life, unlike my kin,” Írissë spat, her voice shaking from fury, “but this filth before me is alone worthy of the touch of my arrow! You alone I will kill, free this world from its evil!”

“Then be my guest, and see if you can keep the title of ‘noble elf’ attached to your name, now that those who regarded you so highly are dead!”

“Your death would be my most noble act,” Írissë said. She pulled back the bowstring, and was about to let go before she was picked off the ground.

“Írissë, no!” Turukáno begged, hoisting her away from the demonic creature. “Don’t fall into that trap - Arakáno! Follow me!”

“Oh, and I was hoping I would get to play with my cousin, particularly with her corpse!” Tyelkormo laughed.

Írissë glared at him, wishing her gaze alone could kill, but Turukáno pretended he did not even hear him, and took her away as she trashed in his arms and screamed for Tyelkormo’s death.

“May a hundred arrows rain down on you! May your death be an eternity of agony, a lake of fire to scorch you down to the bone, servant and bedfellow of Moringotto!”

“Írissë, please! We are not like our kin.”

She was vaguely aware that she was taken into Eärinë’s house, the doors having been open wide since the time Eärinë had left. The sounds of war faded a little inside, but inside the house was cold from the absence of its inhabitants. Turukáno settled her by the kitchen table.

“Írissë, please…”

“I shall be known by no other name than Arátellë,” she told Turukáno, her eyes unseeing him. “It was the name my friends called me, and in their honor it is the only name I will bear for myself.”

“All right then, Arátellë,” Turukáno said. “Will you promise not to go back out there?”

“I will not rest until Tyelkormo is dead,” Arátellë said, glaring at her brother. “Surely you too lost someone tonight, brother?” Her eyes fell on Arakáno, who stood silently in the shadows, the tears running down his cheeks. Too often she had teased him about his wedding day with Eärinë. He loved her even as a young elf, and now the memory of her dressing a tiny Arakáno in the finest silks for his pretend-wedding shot right through her heart.

“How can we sit here while the evil of the House of Fëanáro burns through the city?” she said in a hollow voice. “How many more lives lost are you willing to stand aside and just watch?”

“I am not condoning their actions, sister, please understand,” Turukáno said in a voice eerily calm. “You have not seen the full extent of the war before your arrival. I’m afraid there is nothing we can do, just the three of us standing alone against a world gone mad.”

Arátellë shook her head.

“The massacre was ending when I found you,” he continued. “No doubt Fëanáro will take his kin and his followers and go east. Our father will follow him.”

“Are you going?”

“Yes, because Findekáno too is leaving.”

“Then I will follow you.”

“No. You and Arakáno go back to our mother. We will not be gone for long. After this war has ended and after the Valar solve how to rekindle the Two Trees, our lives will return to normal.”

“There is no returning to normal,” Arátellë said. “Two of my closest friends are dead, at the hands of one I thought I could trust!”

Turukáno lowered his head. “I understand.”

“If there is to be a war, I will come with you,” Arakáno said. “I am old enough.”

“Just barely,” Turukáno said.

“And Arátellë is an expert hunter.”

“You are a fool if you think I can just sit at home and wait,” Arátellë said. “You know me better than that, brother.”

Turukáno studied her for a moment, frowning, then got up and went to Arakáno. They spoke in whispers, but Arátellë could still make out their words.

“Keep an eye on her…when we make camp….make certain she doesn’t escape…”

She rolled her eyes. If her brother was going to cage her, she would still figure out a way to leave and seek out the filth who deserved death.

When he turned back to her, Turukáno nodded. “Are you ready to go to east?” he asked.

Without hesitation, Arátellë nodded and got to her feet.