Many Journeys by Elleth

Small Rebellions

Idril and Aredhel, and some of their attempts to escape the laws and customs of society.

They thunder across the plain together, though it’s not quite thundering as far as Irissë is concerned: Turukáno won’t allow his daughter a horse, her being far too young, and yet couldn’t refuse the tiny, bare foot Itaril put down, demanding (and getting) instead a pony suited to her size – and Irissë’s Tyelpinë has trouble shortening her gait to suit tiny white Tixë. But Itaril is squeaking with delight as they race beneath Laurelin’s glare upon the land, the frazzles of her fine blonde hair flying, and indeed Irissë is soon laughing too hard – out of joy, not out of malice - to race her properly. Itaril wins that race not just by kindness but by luck, and Irissë thinks this girl will make it far.

* * *

They race on foot over the grey fields of Hisilómë, having no horses, and the dew clings to their feet. Itaril, older now, teaches Irissë to dance barefoot through brambles with nary a snag on her dress, and Irissë in turn teaches her to snare, to hunt, and to skin her kills with barely the blink of an eye, and with no blood upon her clothes. Itaril, enjoying the challenge, takes to wearing white and silver, too, shedding the grieving black that would hide the stains, and they laugh together seeing Turukáno’s incredulous face when the women bring home much-needed food. Necessity makes ignoring his protests that it is unbecoming a woman easy, and when they burn midnight oil brooding over philosophy and social conventions to prove him wrong, that marks the beginning of a stauncher opposition – from both sides, not just his, and it grows harder to be at liberty in Nevrast – coming home with silvery scales of fish upon them is frowned at fiercely, or diving off the cliffs head first – there is no danger in it, for they know the shallows from the deeps and where the waves crest highest, and returning to the city with clothes and hair plastered to their skin. Turukáno argues that that serves no purpose, refusing to see that adventure is a need, too, ever since Elenwë’s death – but Irissë and Itaril smile at each other, devising yet another plan to thwart him.

* * *

In Gondolin, finally, they are sequestered away with with the ladies of the Houses, their ladies in waiting, with fabric and needles – for delicate lace and embroideries, though Aredhel, in a fit of frustration, twists her fabric so it resembles a ragdoll, and jabs the needles in. Then she smiles brightly, and says, “a pincushion!” into the awkward silence and the ladies start tittering once she’s gone. Itaril remains with them, finding to her surprise that they are not all as asinine as they did at first seem, but that being forced into the corset of ladyship did it. And there are small rebellions, after – Egalmoth’s wife Elanna delicately stitches hunting scenes and battles into her lace; Idril’s handmaiden Meleth, soft-spoken and erstwhile student under Pengolodh, waits until dusk to unveil her store of tales of Angband, and glimpses into the mind of Morgoth. Idril draws the curtains shut, lights a single candle, and leans on Aredhel’s shoulder, smiling.

It is not a terrible life, but carving their niche out of the Echoriath is harder when they are not allowed the tools, with Turgon’s misguided goodwill smothering them as though they are still children, and so she can’t be sad when Aredhel one day insists that she will leave into the world without – and she alone does win the right to do so; Idril’s own attempts go soundly rebutted, or ignored. But she at last is given a horse, and grinning at her aunt, she says,

“Race you to the Orfalch Echor,” and this is what they do, leaving her retinue and all their trappings, for the moment, far behind.

Chapter End Notes

Written for Croclock's request.

Elanna and Meleth’s characterizations are from the Gondolin RPG - I played them both, but Elanna is an OFC who originated with Aria, who graciously didn't mind me borrowing her.