Mirror, Mirror on the Wall by reindeer_pizza

Chapter One

Read Chapter One

In one fluid motion, Tyelko raised the bow and pulled the string back, lining up her shot. She released her breath and arrow as one and was met with the satisfying thunk of the arrow hitting the target. She muttered an unladylike curse under her breath. Her shots were still pulling a little to the left. She retrieved her arrows and started a new round.

“Tyelko!” Maitimo called. “It’s almost time for dinner. You need to wash up.”

She rolled her eyes and looked over at her brother. Brothers, she should say, as Maitimo was holding little red-faced Moryo on his hip. He didn’t seem to notice the babe chewing on one of his braids. “I’ll be in soon. I have five more arrows in this round.”

“Have you been out here all day?” Maitimo asked. “You’re filthy! Inside. Now. You need a bath.”

“And you need to relax,” Tyelko said, turning back to her archery. “It’s just dinner. It shouldn’t matter if I’m clean or dirty or in my leathers.”

“I don’t care, but father does,” Maitimo said. “Go wash up and put on a proper dress.”

She lowered her bow with another roll of her eyes, but did as Maitimo bid.

In her room, she put away her bow and arrows and took off her arm guard and shooting glove. The chest guard was the hardest piece. Technically, she didn’t need it. Most others went without. Hers was larger than the standard, covering her whole chest instead of just one side. She had learned to shoot without one, but then…

That had been before her body had developed.

Well, her mother had been happy at least. Her little Tyelkormo was becoming a woman. Nerdanel had noticed the change in her daughter’s body and pulled her aside for more and more private talks ‘woman to woman’. She always seemed so pleased that there was another female in the house to help her ‘stand against the tides of masculinity’. Tyelko still wasn’t sure what breasts had to do with that, but she couldn’t bring herself to crush her mother’s joy, so she put up with uncomfortable conversations about her body and being careful around men and the secrets of pregnancy and childbirth (because obviously she was going to grow up and get married to a man and bear him lots of children, just like her mother). Nevermind that all these talks made her want to claw off her own skin. Nevermind that the mere idea of ever being pregnant made her nauseous. Nevermind that she had no real interest in marriage. She was a woman, with a woman’s body and a woman’s expectations.

She could delay it no longer and the chest guard came off. Her breasts, easier to ignore when hidden beneath the stiff leather, were freed, out and there to remind everyone that she was, in fact a she. The dresses her parents had given her only made the problem worse, the fine fabric clinging to her hated curves. At least most of them were long enough she could hide leggings underneath. She couldn’t stand the feel of her bare legs brushing against each other under the dress.

Hair. She should probably do something with her hair, something more elaborate than the simple, practical hunter’s braids she preferred. Something pretty or elegant that would complement the hair ornaments her father had made for her.

Or she could she could say ‘fuck it, I’m in a dress and mostly clean, that’s good enough’. That was definitely the more appealing option, and it had been some time since she had made father angry. His face always turned the most amusing shade of red. Her hair was out of her face and not loose, which was more than appropriate for a simple family dinner.

Father didn’t say anything about her hair at dinner, though she did get a Disappointed Look. She had been the recipient of many a Disappointed Look in her time, so it was easy to ignore. But apparently there were more important things to discuss than Tyelko being slightly underdressed.

“Arafinwë has invited us to his home in Alqualondë to celebrate his second son’s begetting day,” Nerdanel announced after they had finished eating.

Fëanor made a small grumble of complaint, but didn’t put up more than a token resistance. He had always found his second (half) brother to be the more tolerable of the two.

“It’s been some time since we’ve seen him and his family,” Maitimo said.

“A trip to the seaside does sound pleasant. Perhaps Findaráto will even take us sailing,” Makaluarë replied.

“Didn’t you get seasick the last time we were on a boat?” Tyelko asked.

He waved her off. “I’ll be fine. When are we leaving?” he asked Nerdanel.

“In about two weeks. I think the letter was delayed. Normally Arafinwë is much better about timing,” she said.

“It is a bit short notice, but we can make it work,” Maitimo said.

“What about you?” Nerdanel said to Tyelko.

“Hm? Oh, I don’t think I have anything that can’t be rescheduled,” she said, confused. She wasn’t of age yet, and other than her lessons didn’t have any pressing obligations.

“Is two weeks enough time for you to find something appropriate to wear? Your new dress won’t be ready yet, not that I would want you to wear it to this party, it’s for your begetting day, not Angaráto’s,” Nerdanel said. “Do we need to run to the shops?”

“That won’t be necessary!” Tyelko said a little too quickly. Shopping was nothing short of torture, and to be avoided at all costs. “I have plenty of dresses. The one I got for your last art show should be fine, right?”

Nerdanel slowly nodded, looking somewhat put-out from being denied mother-daughter bonding time. “Yes, I suppose that will work. Make sure it’s clean and still fits. Your shoulders have grown so much recently.”

~*~

Angaráto’s party was fine, she supposed. The food and wine were excellent, if a little heavy on the fish, and it was nice to have a change of scenery. It had been years since they had come to Alqualondë, but the Teleri were always an open and hospitable sort, happy to welcome visitors.

After several excruciating hours of making polite conversation with elves whose names she couldn’t bother to remember, she was finally free. The dress was gone, replaced by one of Makalaurë’s old tunics and some leggings. Though she was closer to Maitimo’s height, it was Laurë’s cast-offs that had supplied most of her preferred wardrobe. Laurë’s sleeves may not be long enough, but at least Tyelko could find a tunic in a color other than red. Besides, Laurë had so many clothes that he was less likely to notice if some of the plainer pieces went missing.

She stalked through the quiet streets. Most of Alqualondë’s residents had retired for the night. Such a pity. These stupid parties always left her with too much energy and she was spoiling for a fight. In Tirion she knew where to go, what shadowy corners hid the elves who would give her what she was looking for, and who would be polite enough to not mention that Fëanor’s Daughter had visited their little brawling club. She still could hear Laurë’s exasperated sigh from the first time she came home with a broken nose. He had Sung her nose better and made a big todo about how, as the older brother, it was his duty to look after his younger sister. Even if she was the better fighter of the two.

But this was not Tirion, and her aimless wandering wasn’t making her feel any better. She made her way towards the docks, the scent of salt water cut through with the reek of ripe fish. A door into one of the dockside buildings opened, spilling out light, laughter, and music. She stopped.

The person singing sounded familiar.

She straightened up and marched towards the building. There was one elf leaning against the doorframe doing a pisspoor job of standing guard. He gave her a quick once over and shuffled out of the way.

The building was one large room, likely a repurposed warehouse. Small tables were scattered around the edges with the center left clear. Tucked away in one corner was a bar, and the elf behind it seemed to be doing good business. Someone had set up a stage along the far wall, and there was a band playing music for the elves in the center of the room to dance to. But it was the singer that caught her attention.

They wore a slinky green dress with a slit that revealed a pale thigh. Pearls dripped from their ears, throat, and wrists. Long golden hair spilled down their shoulders, completely unbraided and unadorned in a scandalous display. Their lips were stained berry red and their eyelids had been painted the same green as their dress. Yet, despite the dress and makeup, she knew the singer was male. Or at least, she had always assumed Findaráto was male.

She claimed one of the empty tables in the corner opposite the bar and as far away from the stage as possible. That was Findaráto, right? Her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, were they? No, she recognized his (her?) voice. What was he doing dressed like that?

The song came to an end and the elves, both those sitting and on the dance floor gave a round of applause.

“You’ve been so lovely,” Findaráto said, his voice pitched higher than usual. “We’re going to take a bit of a break and will be back shortly.” The other musicians set down their instruments and the group left the stage and headed towards the bar.

She stood, intending to slip out into the night, but it was too late.

“Tyelko, darling, what are you doing here? Did you come all this way just to hear little old me sing?” Findaráto asked, batting his eyelashes.

“I…um…why are you in a dress?” Tyelko deflected.

Findaráto gave her an indecipherable look. One of the other musicians came over to see what was wrong, but he waved him off. He leaned in close to Tyelko and dropped his voice so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Dearest cousin, do you know what sort of establishment you’ve wandered into?”

“A dance hall?” Tyelko said.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Findaráto said, clearly amused. “But it’s a very special sort of dance hall.” He looked around. “I think we should have this conversation somewhere a little more private. This way.” He tucked his hand into Tyelko’s elbow like a proper lady with her gentleman escort and steered them towards a door near the stage that Tyelko hadn’t noticed.

This room was small and cramped, seeming to serve triple duty as storage, an office, and a dressing room. Findaráto released Tyelko and closed the door.

“So what’s this all about?” Tyelko asked.

“I feel like I should be asking you the same thing,” Findaráto said, still speaking in that high, breathy tone. “Did you follow me here?”

Tyelko shook her head. “I found this place by accident. I was just wandering.”

“And you just so happened to wander into Alqualondë’s only queer dance hall?” Findaráto asked, not believing her.

“Wait, what?”

Findaráto laughed, putting his hand in front of his mouth in a gesture Tyelko recognized from Eärwen. “Oh, little cousin. You’ve been uncharacteristically unobservant. Did you really not see all the men dancing with each other?”

“Perhaps I was a little distracted by my cousin in a dress,” Tyelko growled.

“Do you like it?” Findaráto asked. He spun around in the limited space, the fabric rippling like waves. “I can help you find a similar one.”

“Fuck no!” Tyelko snarled, surprising herself with the venom in her voice.

Findaráto stilled and gave her another long look. “No, I don’t suppose it’s for you,” he said in an odd tone. “Do you really want to know why I’m wearing this?”

Truthfully, she didn’t care, but it had been easier to focus on that than explain exactly why she was out at this time of night. She liked Findaráto, but had always thought him a bit on the weird side. Perhaps he just liked wearing dresses. She was hardly in a place to judge, given her own clothing preferences.

He pressed on without waiting for a response. “Some men like wearing dresses because it makes them feel pretty, even though most would say dresses are for women. Still others wear them because even though the world may think they are men, in truth they are women. But the clothes don’t change that. I have worn dresses as a man and pants as a woman.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s alright,” she said. “It took my parents a bit to understand as well, though they did get it eventually. I suppose it would be easier if I was one or the other or nothing or both. The fluctuation can get confusing. At this moment, I am a woman. I’m Lirinde.”

“Why would you want to be a woman?” Tyelko asked. “It’s terrible. You’re so lucky to be a man. Why would you throw that away?”

This expression Tyelko could read. Findaráto (Lirinde?) looked sad.

“Tyelko,” she started before stopping. She took a breath and continued. “Do you want to be a man?”

More than anything in the world, Tyelko didn’t say.

“Does it matter? Why hope for something I can never have?” she asked.

“But you can!” Lirinde objected. “There’s potions and special garments and some people have even petitioned the Valar to give them their proper shapes and…”

“It has nothing to do with that!” Tyelko snapped, starting to pace in the small space. “You don’t understand! It’s fine if you change, your family has another son. I’m my mother’s only daughter. I’m my brother’s precious little sister. My father’s,” she growled. “His fucking Attëamíriel. My fate was decided the moment I was born. They’re all so happy that I’m a woman.”

“But what about your happiness?” Lirinde asked. “Surely that matters too.”

Tyelko stopped moving, facing away from her. “My father says that family is everything. We have to rely on each other, and put the family first. It would be selfish to say anything and ruin their happiness.”

“If you're sure,” Lirinde said, sounding very unsure. “But in my experience, eventually the pain of the secret is going to outweigh whatever happiness you think it brings.”

~*~

She shouldn’t be surprised, really. It wasn’t in Findaráto’s nature to be subtle. If anything, she should be thankful that the messenger had been instructed to tell her to open the package in private.

It contained an undershirt in a stretchy fabric, a small booklet of information about people like Findaráto (like her?), a set of masculine hair clasps, and a beautifully embroidered formal robe in Fëanorian red. Where had he even found something like that in Aqualondë? Had Findaráto commissioned it? Something like this would have taken far longer to make than the week since their return from the seaside.

Tyelko had never had something this nice before. All of the stolen tunics had been plain, simple things, and her hunting leathers were by their very nature painfully practical. She hid the package deep in her wardrobe and waited for the shelter of Telperion’s silver light, when the rest of the household would be deep asleep.

She combed through her hair and plaited it, copying the prince’s braids her brothers wore, and used Findaráto’s beads to tie them off. She pulled on the compression shirt, then the robes. Finally, she turned towards the mirror.

Tyelkormo’s breath caught as he saw himself as himself for the first time.

The robes accentuated the breadth of his shoulders and strength of his arms, the fabric defining the muscles he had worked so hard on. Between the compression shirt and the clever way the robes were cut, his chest was almost flat, and his hips weren’t as obviously curvy.

He looked princely.

He looked like himself.

For a moment, a single, precious moment, he allowed himself to imagine a future like this. Dressed in these fine robes, presiding over a banquet with a boar he had killed as the centerpiece. Standing before court beside his brothers, their father beaming with pride for his sons. Being announced at his coming of age celebration, not as Attëamíriel Fëanoriel, but as Turcafinwë Fëanorion.

He savored this dream, holding it in his heart as long as he could. Alas, he could not hold back the Mingling, and the first golden rays of Laurelin’s light popped the vision like a soap bubble, and she was once again Tyelko, daughter, sister, woman.

~*~

The dress loomed in Tyelko’s room, displayed on a dressmaker’s form. It was a beautiful thing, yards of precious embroidered red silk with delicate lace around the wrists and plunging neckline. The matching jewelry waited on her vanity and the golden slippers were in a nearby box. There was nothing wrong with the dress, and she knew that most young women would adore having one just like it. Yet, her thoughts couldn’t help but stray to the robes tucked carefully in the back of her wardrobe.

“Are you excited? It’s your big day!” Nerdanel said. “My little girl, becoming a woman. Before you know it, you’ll be married and have daughters of your own.”

Tylako gave a smile that looked more like a grimace. “That sounds great.”

Nerdanel tucked a stray bit of hair behind Tyleko’s ear. “There’s no need to be nervous. Just because your father and I married young doesn’t mean you have to. You’ll have plenty of time to start a family.”

Tyelko nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Let’s put on your dress,” Nerdanel said. Between the two of them, they managed to get the various undergarments and petticoats wrangled into position before placing the dress on top. Nerdanel did up the last few fasteners before stepping back to look at her handiwork. “You look so grown up,” she said, tears gathering in the corner of her eye.

Tyelko glanced at herself in the mirror. The red had brought some color to her pale cheeks, but that was about the only positive she could find. The sleeves were loose to hide the breadth of her shoulders, while the bodice was tight against her chest, pushing her breasts up and out. “It seems different than when I tried it on last. Did the tailor make alterations?” she asked, tugging on the deep neckline, trying in vain to cover her breasts.

“Stop that, you’ll ruin the lace,” Nerdanel said. “Besides, the old neckline wasn’t as fashionable. And we want you to look your best.”

“Why does that matter? I’d rather be comfortable,” Tyelko said.

Nerdanel sighed. “I understand. Believe me, I do. I wasn’t raised in a palace and trained to be a princess. There was quite the learning curve when I married your father. And one of the first things I learned is how cruel people can be when a woman doesn’t fit their ideas of femininity. I know you don’t like dresses, but they are expected of a woman of your station at events like this. I’m trying to protect you from the nastier bits of politics and court life.”

Here it was, a chance to say something, anything, about the pain hiding in her heart. “What if I don’t want to fit anyone’s idea of femininity?”

Her mother laughed. “You’ll still be my daughter, no matter what.” She kissed Tyelko’s forehead. “Your father will be up soon to help with your hair. I need to put the last few touches on your gift.” Without waiting for a response, she scampered away and out of the room.

Tyelko sat at the vanity and waited for Fëanor to arrive, doing her best to not look in the mirror.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” she called.

Fëanor entered, already dressed for the party. “Oh, Attëamíriel, you look lovely,” he said, moving closer.

She smiled, even as she was silently snarling at her hated father-name. “The seamstress did a good job.”

“I have something for you,” he said, pulling something out of his pocket. “These were your grandmother’s, and I want you to have them.” He held up two intricate gold and pearl hair clasps.

“Atya, I can’t. You should keep them,” she protested.

He shook his head and gave her the sad smile he always wore when talking about Míriel. “These were made for a woman, not a man. And you look so much like her. They’ll fit you perfectly.”

I’m not her, she wanted to scream. I will never be her. Stop forcing me into a shape I don’t fit.

“I’ll treasure them,” she said aloud. “Ammë said you would help me with my hair?”

Fëanor nodded. He picked up a comb and started to brush out the pale strands before weaving them together again. Like everything else about her presentation, the braids were more ornate than she liked, and this style had new braids as well, declaring her of age and eligible for marriage.

He tied off the last braid. “There. Perfect.” He offered her his arm. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

~*~

“Announcing Attëamíriel Tyelkormo Fëanoriel!”

Tyelko squared her shoulders and, with the air of a doomed soldier about to face his last battle, descended the grand staircase of the Palace’s ballroom. The eyes of Tirion’s nobility were upon her. Despite her reluctance to play the game, she was still aware of its rules, and gave away none of her inner turmoil, instead smiling at the crowd and picking out the familiar faces of her cousins.

The dancing started soon after her entrance. She joined for a few songs, and while she was fleet of foot as usual, the joy of the music couldn’t reach her heart. Maitimo caught up with her and guided her to where their mother was waiting by a large sheet-covered object on a dais.

She knew what it was. Her mother had sculpted life-size statues for both her older brothers for their coming of age gifts. Maitimo was caught mid impassioned speech, while Laurë was playing his harp. Undoubtedly there was a marble Tyelko under the sheet, doing something hunting related.

The music faded away and the guests turned to face them.

“Welcome! Our dear friends and family, we are honored by your presence,” Nerdanel’s voice rang through the air. “Tonight, we are celebrating my beloved daughter’s coming of age. From when we first knew that we were expecting her…”

Tyelko stopped listening. Or at least, she tried to. Most of her mother’s words faded into important sounding mush, but it was mush filled with glass shards.

She. Her. Daughter. Attëamíriel. Granddaughter. She. She. Her. Her. Woman mother daughter. Don’t forget that this elf right here has a uterus and will be expected to use it, whether she wants to or not.

Tyelko took a deep breath as Nerdanel’s speech came to a close. The night would be over soon. Just a few more hours.

Nerdanel gestured at an attendant, who pulled on a rope connected to the sheet. It dropped, revealing Tyelko's statue.

“What do you think?” Nerdanel asked.

Statue Tyelko stood poised with a drawn bow, aiming at an unseen target. Her hair and skirt whirled around her in a non-existent wind. Maitimo and Laurë’s statues had been perfect copies of their subjects, but Nerdnael had clearly taken some creative liberties with this statue. Gone were Tyelko’s muscles. Gone were the broad shoulders. Gone was every little thing that Tyelko actually liked about his appearance, replaced with an ideal of femininity that he had no desire to achieve.

“Oh,” Tyelko said, his heart breaking. He stared at the face his mother wished he had. This was the cost of her love and acceptance. He could see his future stretching out. Married off to one the lords circling like sharks scenting blood. Going through the hell that was pregnancy just to carry on his family’s legacy. Being tied to a fate he did not want because he had been given the wrong shape.

“Tyelko, darling, what’s wrong?” Nerdanel asked.

He shook his head and took a step back. “That’s not me. That’s not…I…”

He turned and fled.

Out. Out. He had to get out, get away, far away, away from the weight of expectations, away from the false shape he had carved himself into, trying desperately to be the woman his family needed him to be.

The streets were empty, most people at home or at the palace. He stumbled, the beaded slippers he wore meant for dancing, not fleeing like his life depended on it. He tore them from his feet and raced on.

Down, down, out of the city, into the woods that held him and hid him. Thorns and branches caught at the layers and layers of oppressive fabric. He pulled off the expensive dress, destroying the fabric that artisans had labored over. He ripped off the underskirts, a snake shedding a skin that no longer fit, that never had fit.

Clad only in his innermost shift (for even in this state he could recognize the stupidity of running around the woods naked), he ran on.

He ran and ran, until his muscles ached and breath burned. He stopped at the base of a large, gnarled tree. A few moments later he had scaled the trunk, fleet as any squirrel, and tucked himself into a hollow between two branches near the top.

He didn’t know how long he had been in the tree when he heard the voices, distant at first yet growing closer with each passing moment.

“Attëamíriel!”

“Tyelkormo!”

“Where are you?”

“Attëamíriel!”

He curled into a tighter ball, willing himself invisible and insignificant. Let them pass, let them not see him, let them forget about him and leave him in peace.

“Attëamíriel!”

The voice of his father stopped beneath his hiding space.

“Attëamíriel? Is that you?”

He shook his head.

“What happened? Are you alright?” Fëanor asked.

He shook his head again.

“Please, come down. We can talk about whatever it is,” Fëanor said, reaching his hand up.

Nerdanel appeared. She and Fëanor were still dressed for the party. “Tyelkormo! What are you doing up there?”

“Go away,” Tyelko said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “Leave me alone.”

“Sweetheart, are you hurt? You just ran without saying anything. Why?” Nerdanel asked.

The words were stuck in his throat, choking him. He shook his head.

“Attëamíriel, please,” Fëanor said.

“Don't call me that,” Tyelko growled.

Fëanor and Nerdnal shared a confused look. “Why not? It’s your name.” Fëanor asked.

“No. It’s what you want me to be,” Tyelko snarled. He looked down at them. “Both of you are so focused on forcing me to be what you want, you can’t even see me!”

“That’s not true!” Nerdanel protested.

“Bullshit!” he snapped, vaulting out of the tree and landing with the grace of a cat. “If that’s not true, then why does your statue look nothing like me?”

“Is that what this is all about?” Nerdanel asked, her tone getting heated. “I may have made a few minor modifications, but it’s you. I did the same thing for your brothers.”

“No, it’s not me. It’s the daughter you wish you had. The one who wants pretty clothes and enjoys shopping and can’t wait to be a mother. The one who likes being a woman instead of despising it! If you ever bothered to look at the person in front of you instead of the one in your dreams, you would have seen how much I hated all of that!” Tyelko yelled.

“Now, that’s not fair-” Fëanor started, reaching for him.

Tyelko rounded on him. “You have no room to talk. I still remember how you wept when I chose hunting as my craft instead of weaving because you couldn’t force me to be her perfect little copy.”

“Attëamíriel-”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Tyelko screamed.

Fëanor’s hand and expression fell. “I suppose that name never did fit you, did it?” he said sadly.

“Tyelko,” Nerdanel said, approaching him the way one would approach a startled horse. “You know you don’t have to be a man to hate dresses and love hunting, right? There’s more than one way to be a woman. You don’t have to shun womanhood just because you don’t like certain parts of it. You don’t have to be feminine to be my daughter.”

Tyelko shook his head. “You don’t understand. I cannot be a woman and be happy. I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried so hard. I know you love having a daughter, but I can’t do that anymore. It hurts too much.”

Hesitantly, Fëanor reached out and put a hand on Tyelko’s shoulder. When he didn’t resist, Fëanor pulled him into a hug. Held there, in his father’s embrace, Tyelko felt like a small child again. Tears leaked from his eyes as the weight of the evening crashed down on him.

“Atya, please,” he whispered. “Make it stop hurting.”

Fëanor stroked Tyelko’s hair. “I think it’s been a long night. Let’s go home. We can get cleaned up, sleep, and talk about this more later.”

Tyelko nodded, and they made their silent way back to the city.

~*~

The next few weeks following Tyelko’s revelation, the house was filled with silence and shouts in equal measure. While his father had come around in a few days, even agreeing to change his father-name to Turcafinwë, Nerdanel had not.

“Why can’t you just be a masculine woman?”

“I don’t want to be a woman at all!”

“What if your husband wants children?”

“I don’t want children, and as I’m the one who would be shooting them out, I think my vote carries a little more weight.”

“You aren’t going to take any of those medicines or have any of those surgeries behind my back.”

“That is not your decision to make.”

“What are we going to tell the rest of the family?”

“The truth?!”

~*~

It isn’t running away, it’s a tactical retreat, Tyelko tried to convince himself as he saddled his horse under Telperion’s silver light. The rest of his family was deep asleep and wouldn’t notice his absence until first Mingling. Later, if he was lucky. He had always been an early riser, so his absence from the breakfast table wouldn’t be that unusual.

“Out for a midnight ride?” Maitimo asked, stepping out of the shadows.

Tyelko started. “It is unholy that someone as big as you can move that quietly.”

Maitimo didn't reply, taking in the packed saddlebags. “Were you really going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“I wrote a letter,” Tyelko said, not quite able to meet Maitimo’s gaze.

“You don’t have to go. There’s nothing wrong with you being a man.”

“Tell Ammë that,” Tyelko said. He sighed. “Look. We all need some space. I’ve always said I wanted to join Oromë’s Hunt. I’m just moving the timeline up a little. Unless you can honestly say you like living in a house where screaming matches are a near daily occurrence.”

“Ammë loves you. It’s just taking some time for her to adjust,” Maitmo said, ever the diplomat.

“She doesn’t, though,” Tyelko said. A few weeks ago, he may have said this in anger. Now, he spoke with a deep weariness. “She loves the daughter I never was, the one I killed. She’s mourning someone who doesn’t exist.”

Now it was Maitimo’s turn to look away.

Tyelko finished preparing his horse and mounted it. He turned its head towards the gates.

The movement brought Maitmo back to the present. “Tyelko,” he called.

“Hm?”

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I would rather have a happy brother than a miserable sister.”

Tyelko nodded. “It’s worth a lot. This isn’t forever. I’ll be back. Eventually.”

He tugged the reins and rode away from her past and towards his future.