Young Bucks of Cuiviénen by heget

Bride

Ravennë and her sister-in-law during the Great March

Ravennë’s sister-by-marriage stamped to where the new Minyar chieftess had picked her half-tent by a tall oak. The location was set a little aside from the rest of the camp’s tents, angling to protect Ravennë from the worst of the wind as she sucked on the bones of her last meal. Licking the last bit of grease from her fingers, Ravennë looked up at the irate face of her sister. Indis had marched over with such forceful steps it was as if she was trying to crush an odious bug under each foot, and now the young woman was glaring down at Ravennë with a red face, her cheeks flushed and puffed out. “Yes, dear Indis?” Ravennë asked, curious if she needed to cut short her idle repose. This spot under the oak was quiet and pleasant and had fewer midges than the tents closer to the river.

“I refuse to marry him,” Indis half-shouted.

Relieved that this was not the request to help grind flour, for her arms were still a little sore and this blanket was too comfy to move, Ravennë sighed. A personal issue, thank the Powers that created their world. “Marry who?” she asked, already guessing at Indis’s answer. The anger attached to Indis’s outburst prompted one option of discussion as the most likely of the choices.

“Your brother. Inkundû. Just because you married my brother, I won’t marry yours.”

Ravennë laughed. “Please don’t. I demand that you never. In fact, an oath. You shall never espouse my older brother.” Though laughter colored her words, Ravennë’s intent was deathly serious. “I wish no spouse upon my brother; he is a trial and a pain. And I want him to have no power to attempt a challenge to me or your brother,” she continued, though remembering how easily Ingwë had bested Inkundû, like reprimanding an unruly child, undercut the sternness of her words. “Ignore any talk of solidifying or unifying our families through a tandem union. My brother is a loose end, but not a worrisome one. Well,” Ravennë waved a hand, “worrisome like the flies are worrisome. Sweet Indis, find a spouse that pleases you. That is worthy of you- though I doubt there are many choices.” Ravennë mentally congratulated herself on having the most worthy of all Eldar as hers, a smug fact that she touted to bolster her ego whenever she had a quiet moment. 

Indis blushed.

“Oh yes, your soft eyes for your brother’s friends. I have not mentioned it to your mother, though Mâktamê is sharp and wise. They are suitable.”

“Sister!” Indis hissed.

“You would marry outside the tribe,” Ravennë continued, “not ideal…but ideal for escaping my obnoxious brother. We could just duel him instead, if he has pressed you with any words or attention, or anyone else that has suggested this to you. Need not involve Ingwê; I could do it, or train you, or ask Asmalô. Asmalô would love to smack Indunkû around for a few rounds, I think.” Indis shook her head. “No? Well, then, worry not, sweet one. And I do mean it- either of the other two chieftains, Phinwê or Elwê. Though your eyes -and your cheeks- favor the short one.” Ravennë made a dismissive gesture. “He is the slightly less handsome one, but his personality is closer to yours and a more happy fit.”

Taking the implied invitation to start discussing Finwë, Indis knelt on the blanket besides Ravennë and began to extol Finwe’s virtues - and polish off the remainder of Ravennë’s snack.