The Book of Short Tales by Lyra

B2MeM '13 - Friendship - Eulogy

Begun for several B2MeM '12 prompts - N38 (Sons of Fëanor: Celegorm and Aredhel and I27 (Fëanatics!: Family Guy and TVTropes: Kill it with Fire); finally finished for B2MeM '13, March 1: Friendship.

Celegorm regrets the loss of a friend.

Eulogy

We were never in love.
We were friends, once, and spent most days in the week together – our interests were the same, after all: woods and wildlife and hunting. None of my brothers shared my temperament in horse-riding; she did. We held archery contests, and she often bested me, and I accepted it with more grace than I would ever have shown with anyone else. I knew that if I ever fell in love, it would be with someone like her, swift and strong, playful and iron-willed. But we did not fall in love. Even our friendship came to an end when Father was exiled from Tirion, and we never quite managed to rekindle it.

Still I cared about her; and when I met her in the forests of Nan Elmoth with her son, an invisible arrow pierced my heart. Was I jealous of the lout she had married? I like to think that I merely hated him for what he had done to her – tricked her, imprisoned her, hurt her, shamed her – for we were, after all, cousins. Blood is thicker than water, and family loyalty runs deep. Oh, we fight amongst each other, I'll grant that – but hurt one of us and you'll have the rest of us at your throat, no matter how we feel about the person you hurt. I still felt the memory of our friendship when I met Aredhel in the woods, and so I was furious at the bastard who dared to call himself her husband.
But I also hated the son, although he presumably had done her no harm. Maybe I was jealous after all.

Jealous or not, I helped them both. What choice did I have? If I had offered help only to her, she would not have accepted it. She was doting on the youth. He was, after all, her son.
So I gave them horses and counsel, and I wanted to give her riding gear, easier to move in and harder to spot than the white gown she insisted on wearing.
"Everyone will notice you in that thing," I said. "If that bastard follows you, he'll have no trouble finding witnesses to point him your way."
The son clenched his jaw and his fists when I spoke about her husband that way. Of course I noticed it. So he had run away with his mother, but he also felt loyalty towards his father. He would. Blood, as I said, is thicker than water. That was a problem in the making, I thought, for even if the two of them made it to Turgon's city, there would always be a shadow of the father over them. And who knew what the troubled son might do, if he did not feel at home among his mother's people? Conflicting loyalties are a terrible thing.
But I could hardly tell Aredhel that. She would not leave the youth behind – indeed, could not, at this point – and what else was there to do?

Aredhel, maybe unaware of her son's reaction, gave me a sly smile. "I do hope so," she said.
It confused me, but after some reflection it made sense. She was certainly not too foolish to choose the right sort of clothing for a flight through the forest; if she wore that cumbersome white gown, it must be for a purpose. She was hoping that her husband would follow her, then – follow her all the way to Gondolin, where Turgon's guards would deal with the intruder in their notoriously uncompromising way. I should not have been surprised. If Aredhel felt slighted, she would not rest until she had taken revenge. And in this case, who could blame her?
But it was a long road to Gondolin yet, and much could happen in between – the husband might be faster than she was giving him credit for, for instance.

I spoke softly, hoping that the son would not hear me: I did not know how much of her plans he knew – how much she wanted him to know. "Would you like me to waylay him? I can make sure he will not trouble you again – in whatever way you wish."
"Do not trouble yourself, good cousin," Aredhel said. "That problem will solve itself."
"I would not rely on it," I said – still softly, but urgently. "Let me take care of... the problem for you. That way, you have certainty. Your brother's guards may be feeling merciful. I won't."
"I said, do not trouble yourself," Aredhel repeated, louder this time. "I do not want his blood on your hands."
I could not help but snort. "We both know that it's too late to worry about blood on my hands."
She smiled. "It's never too late to worry about you," she said, as though I were the one escaping from an unwise and abusive marriage. I did not point that out. No good in shaming her further.

But I knew in my heart that if I caught sight of that worthless Avarin bastard, if I heard so much as a rumour about his presence, I would hunt him and destroy him, cut out his heart and burn his sorry remains just to be absolutely certain he could not further trouble my cousin, my best friend, the one woman I might have been tempted to marry.
She knew it, too. "Tyelko," she said in the language of our youth, "for the last time: Do not trouble yourself. Slaying Eöl is politically unwise - he is not your enemy, he has given you no offense!"
"He has given me great offense if he has harmed a friend of mine."
Aredhel gave a little sigh. "That is sweet of you, but I'm afraid others will consider that insufficient. It would drag your name further into the mud if not worse! He is not worth that - I will not give him that triumph! So promise me that you will turn a blind eye when he passes through your lands, and that you will neither pursue and harm him nor send someone else to do it. Promise me – if you still call yourself my friend, promise me!"
Well, what choice did I have? I sighed. "Very well, Irissë, I promise if I must. But I beg you to reconsider. I do not worry about politics, or my name," although she was right, of course; slaying a Sindarin traveller without apparent cause would make my life a lot harder, "I worry about you."
She smiled, and kissed me on the cheek, and returned to her son's side. "Don't," she said, easily getting into the saddle despite her long gown. "All will be well."

All would not be well, I thought. Still, I kept my promise.
I wish I hadn't.