This Is Growing Up by Grundy

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Chapter 1

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The wind did its best to whip her hair into her face, but Artanis had chosen her position carefully.

She tucked the errant locks back under her hood, and pulled it tighter.

On her left, she could see her father’s camp. On her right, her uncle’s.

She had to make a choice, and soon.

Atto was about to depart – and so was Uncle.

Would she follow her father home to safety, return meekly to all she had wanted to get away from – and back down from her conviction that there was more to life than this – or follow her uncle into the unknown?

She decided for herself only – Ingo had refused to say what course he meant to take, insisting it should be her own choice, not his that decided the matter. Her other brothers had followed suit.

She didn’t know who they thought they were fooling. They were going. Ingo no more wished to give up the chance to see the lands of their grandfather’s awakening or forgo justice for his death than Uncle or Finno.

Part of her resented that even if she chose to go, it would be viewed by the rest of their people as little more than tagging along after her brothers, once again the baby. She’d spent so much time fighting to be her own person that to know she would surrender it and have to start anew was galling.

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“Ammë! I am not a baby anymore, make them stop!”

Eärwen sighed. It was not the first time her adolescent daughter came to her to complain about her older brothers, and she doubted it would be the last.

“Nerwen,” she began patiently, “I know you think yourself quite grown up, but you are still young. Your brothers were only looking out for you.”

“I was just fine, they did not need to follow me!”

“Really?” Eärwen asked, lifting a single perfect brow. “So you did not nearly tumble down into a ravine, something that would certainly have resulted in broken bones at the least?”

Her daughter’s expression was mutinous.

“Give me some credit, Ammë. I had not fallen, and Aiko did not need to intervene as he did.”

“And yet, it relieves my heart that he did, little one,” Eärwen said with a smile, ruffling her daughter’s magnificent hair. “Though it seems only yesterday I was hearing this complaint in reverse – your brothers were adamant that you should not follow them everywhere.”

“I did not follow them everywhere. If anyone can make that complaint, it would be Tyelko – he spent more time with us than anyone else. And everyone else got to have adventures of their own, why can I not do the same?”

Eärwen considered for a moment.

“If you must go adventuring, darling, at least take Irissë with you.”

“I wanted to do something for myself, Ammë, not have someone do it for me.  I get enough of that here in Tirion.”

“There is a difference, Nerwen,” Eärwen said quietly, “between having people do things for you and having people do things with you. Everyone needs someone they can depend on, no matter how independent and self-reliant they may believe themselves.”

“Uncle Fëanaro travelled frequently when he was my age! And he took no companion before Aunt Nerdanel.”

“That may be true, my love, but I do not know that he is the better for having spent so much time alone,” Eärwen said with a frown. “And I would not have expected you of all people to cite your uncle’s example.”

Nerwen was more like Fëanaro than she would care to admit, if somewhat more level-headed.

“He may be annoying, but he is the Crown Prince of the Noldor, and if it was acceptable for him to explore and have adventures of his own, it should be for me also.”

Eärwen was silent for a few moments.

“Adventure alone if you will, but I would be quieter in my mind if you would take Irissë at least some of the time.”

“Irissë comes with me more often than Ango and Aiko think,” her daughter sniffed. “If Ango paid attention to people not named ‘Lotë more often, he’d know we were exploring south of the fishing village they holidayed in half the time they were there. It was no great secret, everyone else in the area knew we were there.”

“Oh? What took you there, darling? You weren’t waiting to embarrass your brother, I trust?”

That had been Ango’s version of that trip – he had been furious to discover his little sister had been ‘hanging around underfoot’ while he proposed. (Eldalotë’s less dramatic version had Artanis stumbling into the village tavern soaking wet from a rainstorm, in search of dry clothing, and to all appearances surprised to see them.)

“We were looking for a bird Irissë had heard about, a new one. It had nothing to do with Ango and his betrothed. I didn’t even know they were there until we were on our way back.”

“If you say so,” Eärwen said with a small smile. “Run along, darling, and plot your next adventure with Irissë. And go easy on your poor brothers.”

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Irissë was going, of that she was certain. She could no more imagine Irissë turning back than she could imagine Irissë accepting any of the very proper suitors her mother had been encouraging. (To do the one was to give in to the other.)

If she herself turned back, Artanis realized she’d have little choice to but accept a similar fate – the very one she’d been determined to avoid. A proper, Noldorin husband – for as one of the few remaining of the House of Finwë, there would be little chance she’d be permitted to look to the Lindar – and a highly circumscribed, duty-bound life.

The alternative was not terribly attractive either.

She wanted to go to the Shadowed Lands. She wanted to see them for herself. She’s been curious about them since she first read of Cuivienen as a child. But she’d always thought to sail, to go by sea. Not to risk all on this route that may not even be passable.

She did not need foresight to come to her to understand the Helcaraxë was dangerous, even without the Doom that still echoed in their ears. There was no light, and precious little respite from the cold even here in Araman with solid ground beneath them. Once they leave that behind…

But there would be no other chance to go. Even once the ships are rebuilt, there will be no permission to cross the Sea. She knew that in her bones. Even if the Valar would grant it, her grandfather – who would have the final say – surely would not.

If she wanted to go, if she wanted to escape the stifling atmosphere of Tirion, it had to be now, and it had to be the Ice.

She’s been brave enough to make it this far, to defend her mother’s people and to confront Fëanaro with his crimes. Did that make her brave enough for what lies ahead?

Perhaps not – but she would find out.

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“I will take the Ice,” she told her father and brothers when she returned to their camp. “I have not changed my mind – I wish to see the lands we came from, and if the Ice is the way to do that, then that is the way I must take.”

She saw the pain in her father’s eyes, and knew with a pang that it might be a long time before they met again – and perhaps her path might lead through Mandos before that day.

“I am sorry, Atto,” she whispered.

He might not understand, but her mother would. This was not rebellion, it was escape.