The Book of Short Tales by Lyra

B2MeM '13 - Zeal - Love and other rash vows

Another beneficiary of the B2MeM '13 Wildcard task "Finish something".
This one was begun for the "With a bit of fairy dust" challenge, continued for the B2MeM '12 prompt N31 (Crossovers I: ... with a fairytale or folktale), and left unfinished... until today. Also covers the March 1 prompt "Zeal" (Oath of the Fëanorians, Lays of Beleriand alliterative edition).

Two very different lovers find themselves on a very similar quest. A Lay of Leithian/Taketori Monogatari crossover.

Love and other rash vows

- - -

この玉を取り得では家に帰り来な!
If you cannot attain that jewel, you need not return to this house!
~The Tale of the Bamboo-Cutter

- - -

Beren stared in amazement at the parade before him – or at what would have been a parade, had the dense undergrowth allowed the marching men to file out properly and move with the appropriate dignity. As it was, the foremost four tried to clear a path with their spears, which had long curved blades almost like scythes and were surprisingly succesful at cutting through bushes and felling small trees. The remaining ferns and brambles were cut down by two men with long knives to make room for the servants who followed, four of them bearing a large, fabric-draped box on spars and four more carrying smaller wooden boxes between them. At their tail, another four knife-bearers and another four spear-bearers followed, looking around apprehensively.
Aside from the absurdity of crossing the forest in such a manner, the clothing of the company was another matter of wonder. It appeared entirely unsuited for the forest, for even the servants' robes had wide sleeves kept in check only by narrow ribbons slung around the shoulders, and the wide puffy pants invited the thorny tendrils of brambles. Instead of proper leather boots, even the armed men wore stockings made of fabric, the soles of their feet merely protected by sandals made of wood and straw. And the colours! The most impressive fabric had been used for the drapings and curtains of the large box, sleek gold-coloured fibres interwoven with threads of silver, but the bright reds and greens and golds of the warriors' robes and the deep, inky blue of the servants' dress likewise demanded attention. The boxes were glossy and red or black with inlays of gold and mother-of-pearl. Even in King Thingol's realm, Beren had not seen such pomp. He stared and stared and could not tear his eyes away.
He tried to figure out what they might be. He had never seen armour like theirs. Their attire was too rich and complicated to suit any mortal house, and these people were clearly too tall and wore too much fabric to belong to the Naugrim. Elves, on the other hand, surely would not march through the woods in this manner, cutting down whatever grew in their way just to be able to carry boxes between them. Not even the Noldor, of whom all kinds of strange tales were told, would do such a thing! Their behaviour was downright Orcish, Beren thought – but then, neither their gear nor their faces looked like those of Orcs. Nothing about them made sense.
Curiosity made Beren forget his mission for a moment. When the strange company had passed, he followed them.

The strangers were noisy and inattentive, but the proper inhabitants of the forest were not, and Beren soon paid the price for dropping his guard. His only warning was a low rustle of leaves before he felt a blade at his throat.
"Your name and business, stranger," whispered a soft but stern voice next to his ear. Beren supposed that he was lucky not to be cut down at once, intruder that he was. He answered willingly.
"Beren son of Barahir. I am seeking Finrod Felagund," he set in a soft voice.
The soft voice chuckled. "I serve Finrod Felagund. Why should I believe you?"
Beren took a deep breath. "Look at my right hand. I am wearing a ring you might recognise. Your lord certainly will." He felt the guard's hand on his own, and made a fist to keep the ring safe. He knew he was risking to offend the elf by showing such mistrust, but it would not do to loose the precious heirloom – again.
"I see," the elf said. "And they?"
"Trust me, I have no idea. I was trying to figure out who they are myself."
The guard came to a decision. "Will you surrender your weapons?"
"If you let me," said Beren.
"Certainly. Remove your sword-belt, then."
Beren did as he was told, unbuckling his sword-belt and handing it to the guard. Without the familiar weight of sword and dagger on his waist, he felt strangely naked and helpless.
"Good," the other said and sheathed his sword, replacing it with a tight grip on Beren's right arm. "Now you will follow me."
While he was marched away, Beren could see that a group of Elven archers had already surrounded the odd company.

- - -

Beren offered no resistance against his captivity, and at any rate it did not take long until Finrod Felagund affirmed his story and embraced him as a friend. The strangers were worse off; they were bound as prisoners. Their apparent leader was understandably furious, and spoke out in a loud and angry voice; unfortunately, no-one understood a word of what he was saying. The language did not sound the least bit familiar to Beren, but then he was not a scholar. However, even the raven-haired, flint-eyed elf whom everybody treated with a certain wariness and whom they addressed as Lord Curufin appeared to be stumped, to the surprise of all.
"It is not any mannish tongue that I know," Lord Curufin announced, "nor Khuzdûl, nor any manner of primitive Elvish that I have ever encountered. To my ears, it sounds too complex for Orcish, though of course my brother has more knowledge of that than I do." Many of the present Elves were visibly shocked, shuddering at his words. "Well, I daresay it is not a language native to Beleriand at all, nor related to any language we know," Lord Curufin concluded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But let him rant on, and let them speak among themselves. Maybe I will be able to make heads and tails of their lingo yet."

It was not until a few days later, after the prisoners had been left to their own devices in the cells of Nargothrond under the attentive ears of Curufin, that the Elves learned about their purpose. Beren, too, had kept his true purpose to himself so far. For one, he was somewhat worried how Felagund would react. Would he be willing to help – did the promise he had once given Barahir suffice to draw him into such a risky quest? Beren was afraid that his father's old friend would refuse to support him; what, then, would he do? Moreover, he would have preferred to speak to Finrod in private, and he had not yet had a chance to do that. Least of all did he want the Fëanorians to be present – and whereas the Lord Curufin was busy puzzling out the tongue of the mortal prisoners, his golden-haired brother seemed to be constantly present. Beren wouldn't even have trusted his dog (although that was a very well-behaved, friendly animal), let alone its master.
Finally Curufin re-appeared, looking very satisfied with himself. "I think I am beginning to understand it," he announced. "You can question their leader again, and I will do my best to interpret."

The leader of the strange troup had apparently regained his composure; he was no longer raging, but speaking in a clear, clipped tone of voice.
"His name," Curufin said with a slight frown, "apparently is Ōtomo no Miyuki. He is some sort of dignitary, and asks that he be treated as such."
Finrod frowned. "That remains to be seen. First and foremost, he is an intruder in my realm, and his followers have done quite some damage to the woods. I expect an explanation for that."
Curufin spoke to the stranger in a halting manner, presumably relating Finrod's words to him. Ōtomo no Miyuki sneared a little, clearly unimpressed by the Fëanorian's grip on his language. Still, he seemed to understand his words well enough. He replied at great length, during which Curufin's brow creased more and more. Finally, with an emphatic nod, Ōtomo no Miyuki ended his speech.
Curufin shook his head. "I am not certain that I understood him right," he said, turning to Finrod. "Syntactically, it seems to match; but the sense... well, it makes no sense."
With a sigh, Finrod said, "Let's hear it anyway."
Shaking his head again, Curufin said, "Well, if I heard him right, he came here because he must... prove his love by bringing his beloved a shining jewel that can be found on a monster's brow."
"A Silmaril from Morgoth's crown!" Celegorm threw in at once. Finrod rolled his eyes.
"Indeed, that interpretation crossed my mind," Curufin said. "But that does not help to bring sense to the story."
"That is true," Finrod said. "Who would ask for a Silmaril as bridewealth? And what sort of fool would actually agree to such a request? Entirely absurd!"

"Ahem," said Beren. "As a matter of fact..."

- - -

When Finrod Felagund and Beren and the ten faithful men who had agreed to follow them on their quest made ready to leave Nargothrond, they found to their surprise that the sons of Fëanor were also packing. Ōtomo no Miyuki was with them, pacing impatiently and occasionally speaking a few words with Curufin, who now appeared to be reasonably fluent in the strangers' language.
"I profess myself surprised," Felagund said. "Did you not say you would have no part in such madness?"
Celegorm and Curufin exchanged glances. "I said that we would not allow anybody to take a Silmaril. We stand by that," Celegorm said. "But the honourable Ōtomo no Miyuki has made us a... rather irresistible offer. You see, it turns out that he only needs to show that shining jewel in order to prove worthy of his lady-love. He does not need to keep it, and indeed has sworn that he has no intention of wronging the rightful owners. Therefore we will accompany him, and when the Silmarils are won, we will graciously allow him to borrow one until he has wedded his true love."
"'When the Silmarils are won'?" Finrod said."You appear very certain that you will succeed! Is it not more likely that we will all perish on this foolish quest?"
"Why, goodly cousin," Curufin said with an unpleasant smile, "what then brings you on that foolish quest, if you know that it must fail?"
Finrod sighed. "You know well that I have sworn an oath that I will aid the kin of Barahir in whatever need. Now I must keep it."
"I know that indeed, goodly cousin," said Curufin. "And you may be aware that we have also sworn an Oath that we must keep...?"
Ōtomo no Miyuki interrupted their argument with a question, and Curufin nodded. "We are wasting our time. Neither of us will be dissuaded, so we may as well save our breath."
Finrod shook his head, sadly. "So you will not aid your own cousin, but will lend help to this stranger whose intentions may not be as pure as he pretends?"
Celegorm spread his hands in a gesture of innocence. "He offered the right price, goodly cousin. We all have our price, haven't we?" He gave Finrod a meaningful look. "I do hope yours is worth it."

Chapter End Notes

No offense to the Japanese, either historical or contemporary, or their culture or language is intended. This story is told from Beren's eyes, and he's presumably not the most cosmopolitan of characters.

In the original Taketori Monogatari, ?tomo no Miyuki abandons his quest because the ship on which he travels to the land of the dragon (Curufin here translated the word as "monster") gets blown off course. Here, he apparently stranded in Beleriand. Whether or not he can complete his quest with the help of Celegorm and Curufin is up to you... (My money is on "No.")