Defiant Hope, Take Wing by Lordnelson100

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Chapter 1 About a Girl

The great tales don’t have much to say about Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor. Good with math; teamed up with the Dwarves over financing and weapon mechanics; afflicted with social awkwardness, so much so that he was best known for offending people, and the ease with which he flushed red with embarrassment.

Thargelion, First Age 420

The great tales don’t have much to say about Caranthir, fourth son of Fëanor. Good with math; teamed up with the Dwarves over financing and weapon mechanics; afflicted with social awkwardness, so much so that he was best known for offending people, and the ease with which he flushed red with embarrassment.

On a time, he was taking counsel with Haleth of the Haladin in the woods of his domain. The ground beneath the towering pines was still torn and muddied from the vicious orc assault that robbed her tribe of many lives. It was coming on for late autumn. The shores of Lake Helevorn were shrouded in mist, and a slight, chill rain was falling, netted in their hair and the manes of their horses. Caranthir was a little exasperated, because he couldn’t quite get his point across; so he had a cross look on his pale face, and was waving his hands about.

“I will not take your charity,” said Haleth. “Though I am grateful for your aid. We will live as a free people, while we last.”

“But you wouldn’t have to be my vassal at all,” said Caranthir. “You needn’t carry my cup or hold my banner or learn Elvish, or any of that nonsense, if you don’t like it. Your people would just live in these lands, and we would trade things of worth. We’d make an agreement, a contract, just as I do with the Khazâd.”

“You have a . . . pact with the Dwarves?” She asked, somewhat bemused.

“Just so. They don’t let anyone put anything over on them, do they? It’s a fair arrangement. And such will I make with the Haladin, if you choose to stay in these lands.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“Obviously, it’s the most reasonable solution to helping both our kinds. It’s in my own best interests, but if you’ll use your wit, I believe you’ll find it’s in yours as well.”

Then she did laugh, quietly but out loud. For a moment, she laid aside the terror of desperate siege, the bitter taste of relief come almost too late, and all the sorrowful burden of becoming chieftain upon the death of a brother and father.

This odd, emphatic Elf was offering her people crucial aid to survival after their near destruction, yet spoke his case as petulantly as any tough old Dwarrowdam, driving a hard bargain at the iron markets of the hills.

When she got to know him better, Haleth learned that this word, reasonable, stood for one of Caranthir’s favorite ideas, along with obvious, common sense, profitable, well-made and fair. Their opposite were those things which he called stupid, illogical, impractical, wasteful, unfair, and (a big sin) badly designed.

And when she knew him very well indeed, she saw that there were things he really did because he felt pity, or loyalty, or love, or sadness. But of these, he would also say, “it’s obviously what any reasonable person would do.”

She would take his offer, she decided that day in the woods. Perhaps she trusted him all the more, because there were no silver trumpets or bright banners or voices lifted in song, such as she had glimpsed around other dealings of Men and Fair Folk. Things like that had not protected people against the swords of the Enemy.

 

 

Somewhat to her surprise, they did rapidly discover how their people could mutually aid one another. He led too few followers, and had too large an area to protect. His great lot of brothers to the north and west, though they led larger armies, were holding the line against Morgoth, and could spare none.

Besides, though these Noldor possessed so many high skills and arts that seemed magical to mortals, they were reluctant farmers. They loved to hunt game through hill and glade, but were not over-fond of herd-work and woodland foraging.

So the Haladin took on expanding the food stores across Thargelion. In their long, hard trek from the East, lasting generations, they had learned how to fare in a land of dark woods and mountains, fenced by enemies. In times of attack, they knew to drive their shaggy, tough sheep and cattle into the marshes or hidden dells, and turn their swine loose to fend for themselves. And how to gather the survivors, man and beast, and start over.

Her elder people she sent into the wood to gather potatoes and roots and berries, or to the marshes to gather reeds and weave fine baskets; the children she trained up to feed the cattle and horses and chivvy flocks of fowl. All accepted without question the back-breaking work needed to eke every ear of grain, every basket of fruit out of a short, cold growing season. Ever they hid seed, and for every burnt or plundered field or orchard, they replanted.

Soon she had the pride of counting up surpluses of each good thing, well-protected in storehouse and hidden caves. Her clan traded Caranthir’s people from their stores of thick wool, wheat and apples, eggs and honey, hard cheese and salty dry sausage. The Elves traded back in turn the beautiful cloth they wove from the wool, and supple leather crafted into horse tack or armor, and new conveniences (another Caranthir word) such as parchment, with which the needs and lore of their folk could be recorded.

“Do not look smug,” she told him, as they shared bad wine before the fireplace in her lodge, drinking to celebrate the harvest accounts. “It was a gamble on your part; do not pretend to foreknowledge you had not.”

He looked smug.

 

 

Haleth sat on her horse in the forest, and her best head-men sat on theirs. Her horse was patiently chewing a bit of straw, and she chewed thoughtfully on some dried meat. Her people liked to take their time thinking, when they heard something new.

“So,” said her second. “Their foe slew their grandfather and took all his riches, and then fled away over the sea.”

“But when their clan rode to the sea,” continued another rider, “they found that the tribe who owned all the boats refused to help them. So they fought them, and took the boats by force and came here, following that thief.”

“But there is a curse on them, and bad blood among the Elf-tribes, since the boat-tribe were kin,” finished a third.

“Yes, that is how they tell it,” said Haleth. They paused again for thought. Her horse twitched his ears, shaking off a fly.

“That sounds plain enough.” They all nodded. It was the sort of thing they’d known to happen, often enough, among their own people, if you substituted horses for boats.

It was no barrier, they decided, to allying with Caranthir. They didn’t know any clans of Men who didn’t have a curse or two on them, or some vengeance kills that they regretted. It was good of the Elf to tell them, in case anyone came looking. They would certainly lie if that happened; Caranthir had helped them out of a hard place.

“The only thing I can’t swallow,” said one, “is how they believe the thief who came to the lodge of their grandfather was the Dark God himself, the great Enemy who lives beyond the Mountains of Terror.”

They all laughed.

 

 

Another evening, she said to him, “My cousin in House Beor works for your kin Finrod. He says Elves believe anyone who lies with your kind is immediately bonded to them, and must wed. Whether they like it or not. That sounds like a poor arrangement by your gods, for most people are not so wise about their hearts and their desires.”

Caranthir rolled his eyes. “That’s all just superstition and impractical custom, you know. Even in our homeland, few followed that lore, except the excessively pious. The Wood Elves have never held to it, and most of us who came over the sea are no longer so blindly reverent of the wisdom of the Valar.”

He shrugged. “I suppose there are a few people for whom it is true, and the old rules were written for them. Who knows, maybe it’s just the power of belief, you know? People think they’ll wake up bonded for life, if they take each other, so they do. But it’s certainly not the case for everyone. Many an Elf I know has bedded mates, and strayed again, and none the worse for it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “So how do you know for certain? I mean, about which is true for you?”

“Well, I tried it, didn’t I?” He crossed his arms across his chest. “I wouldn’t have facts to go on, otherwise. Do you need to know the details of the test?” A crooked smile stole across his features. It made his clever, stubborn face look almost handsome. “Or, I could show you.”

His cock felt great inside her, it turned out. He had really nice shoulders, for all he looked so thin. There was such a pretty flush on his face and his neck, even across his chest. But her heart ached a little at the way he kept looking into her eyes with a touching sort of surprise.

 

 

He was not good with endearments and sweet words, even by the low standards of her people.

One evening, he brooded long over the fire, his dark brows crumpled together. She went on with her work, scanning over the tallies of grain store and flock forage she had set as her evening task.

Abruptly he spoke. “I think you are a brave person. Braver than some of my kind, even. You have lost so much, nearly all you most loved, and yet you lead your people with strength. You do not run about despairing, and having it that your sorrow is greater than all others, and making everyone uncomfortable.”

Haleth laughed, amused at this standard of heroism. “Well then . . . score one for me, I suppose?”

 

 

They were riding down to Belegost one spring day, and her thoughts were on acquiring a sufficient supply of those outstanding Dwarf-made swords, without it costing her a dragon’s egg worth of gold and grain.

Caranthir broke in on her musings. He was staring resolutely at the back of his own horse’s head, as if there were something interesting to discover in its braided mane. “Ever since we lost your father and brother to Morgoth’s forces, your life has been full of the cares of a leader. And well you bear it. But before then, why was it you took no husband? Did you not wish children?”

She shrugged. “I did have a man, for a few years, when I was younger. But the war took him, too soon. I quickened, while we were together. But we rode hard against the enemy, that year, and I miscarried while we were yet in the field.”

She saw confusion on his face. “It happens that way, sometimes with we human women, especially if the times are hard. First one is carrying a babe, but there comes pain, and some blood and then . . . there is no child born. Sometimes, the woman never does conceive after, and such I believe to be the case for me. The fates were kind, in their way, for no babe would have survived our hard journey.”

He seemed to brood on it. “It is different In our case. We must will to have children, or so it is said. In times of war or danger, very few Elven children are conceived at all.”

Thus it was, that both of them had their reasons for surprise at later events.

 

 

The feast at Belegost to celebrate five fortunate years of trade and treaty was a terrific success. The wife of Azaghâl, who sat next to them, had a marvelous net of diamonds woven through her hair and beard.

Later Caranthir said shyly to Haleth: “Should you like some jewels, yourself? I could bargain for some gems while we are here, if you tell me what you like, and set them myself. Though I am not counted a notable smith next to my brothers or father, I should like to make you something with my own hands.”

Haleth leaned back against the headboard and thought. “They have some spectacular things in the Dwarrow-market, I cannot deny, but I think I must hoard my purse. I’m not crying poor, mind you, but I’m planning on taking the surplus from this year’s trade to expand the stud herd. Some of us aren’t rolling in great treasuries of gold, like you.”

She pushed him with her foot to show joking. His brothers had an obnoxious habit of niggling at him about his wealth, all because he was a wiser trader than they. He said then, “But anything that’s mine is also yours, as my wife. If I have riches, they are both of ours.”

Haleth looked at him with raised eyebrows. They had never spoken such a thing, aloud. “And yet I don’t seem to remember marrying you. Was there a feast I missed? I hope the wine was good, at least.”

He scrunched up his knees in bed, and knotted his arms around them, looking down, his black hair hanging over his brow to hide his expression. “Well, by the laws and customs of the Valar and the land of my birth, you are already my wife.”

“You mean, the gods and customs you said you don’t believe in, in that very same land you left?” Her teasing seemed to leave him unexpectedly sad, so she touched his flushed face. She said: “You love me and take care of me and our people. You are welcome in my bed and I in yours. By the customs of my people, you’re thus already my husband, feast or no. So, we’re good. You can buy us some more horses, if you like.”

Later, at home, she added: “I will make you a bargain. I will allow you to make me a wedding present, on condition is is not accompanied by any story of how more excellently some brother of yours would have done it. These Fëanor’s sons have done me neither good nor ill, except for you, but my stomach has had enough of their praises. Scowl not at me.”

He scowled.

“My brother Maedhros is the greatest war leader and foe of our Enemy, and the most beautiful of our family. Till Morgoth . . . got a hold of him. And Maglor is the greatest bard and singer among the Noldor, and Curufin the greatest craftsman since our father, and Celegorm the mightiest hunter.”

“What about the red-headed twins?” Haleth said. “Harmless as they seem, have they done nothing to forward your sense of inadequacy?”

He thought for a minute.”They are more innocent, and have done less wrong than I.”

That made her sad. So she took him to bed. The next day she went around to her captains and clan-women to make a list of all the ideas for improvements to the farms and forts that had sprouted recently, and the unanswered questions that needed to be worked. She called an all-day moot to talk them through them with Caranthir and his retinue.

Soon the Elves and Men were tossing out numbers and arguing about priorities, banging their cups upon the long wooden tables for emphasis, and using up many parchment sheets with hastily jotted numbers and sketches. Her husband began to cheer up, as he usually did when he had problems to analyze, as he called it.

Ultimately he made for her a gift of twin gold armbands decorated with the running fox sigil of her house, with tiny ruby chips for the foxes’ eyes; she loved them, and wore them the rest of her days.

 

 

The night she gave birth to their baby, he sat holding her in his arms, and she saw to her alarm that his cheeks were streaked with tears. “Nay, all is well,” she said. “I have turned this one out, in the end, easy as any of my mares. And she is a little maid, sweet and perfect as an apple. Now there is one more in your great numerous crowd of a family, and also in my little one.”

He snuffled a bit and laughed. “It comes to me that neither my parents nor any of my many brothers has ever had a daughter at all. So, I suppose . . . score one for me!”

 

 

Their daughter’s official father-name in the style of his people was Nolwen Morifinwiel, and her mother gave her also Herewyn as her Haladin house name. But people called her Poppy, after the sturdy common red flower that bloomed plentifully among the meadows where they dwelt. Her great loves were for horses and dogs, weapons and riding, for visiting the Dwarves, and for talking, which she did loudly and with enthusiasm.

By the time she was twelve she was already taller than her mother, with a superfluity of lanky arms and legs. Her black hair would not lie flat and smooth like that of her Elven kin, but shot out from her head in wiry waves like her mother’s people. The braids her patient clan-woman made for her were generally falling apart by midday.

Like her father, she had fair skin which flushed bright red when she lost her temper, which I regret to say, was often. Her front teeth were uneven. No one ever sang of her as the fairest maid among the Elves or Men, or thought her so, except her parents.

 

  

They did not set out to keep Poppy secret from his family, exactly, nor their marriage.

It was just that when Caranthir rode to counsel with Maedhros at Himring or the High King at Barad Eithel, or less frequently to the keeps and camps of his other relations, there was always so much business to confer about: war councils, and the league against the Enemy, and mining and trade, relations with the Edain and Khazâd.

That, and the fact that none of his brothers ever thought to ask Caranthir about himself.

Haleth came with him, sometimes, and occasionally ventured on her own, building ties with the Houses of Hador and Beor. She showed herself enough to the Noldo leaders so that her face was known, at least to those like Maedhros and Finrod, Fingolfin and his son Fingon, who prided themselves on cultivating the loyal clans of Men.

But like her husband, her business when she was among the Elven hosts outside Dor Caranthir was of arms and soldiers, supplies and scouting. No one asked what she did with herself when she was at home, and her people were as stoic as she. Let the Hadori drink their ale and shout, and the followers of Beor ape the cloaks and speech of Elves. The Haladin, when visiting, declined offers to stay in the halls of their hosts in favor of camping with their horses and talking quietly in their own language. They had a reputation to uphold: a people taciturn and apart.

And so the kin of Caranthir went on thinking of Haleth as his plain little Edain ally, sunburnt and sinewy of arm, who had much good sense in battle, but little to say for herself. The Dwarves knew better, but then, they thought it was a good joke to know something of one Elf that another did not, so they did not spill upon it.

 

Chapter End Notes

Yes, it's Caranthir and Haleth, because I always like the unsentimental people, and those who get few lines, so they hit me on two levels.

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