Long live the King by Aprilertuile

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disagreement

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The way back to the lakeside was long and tiring and filled with what Tyelkormo would call a heavy silence.

He was neither blind nor deaf:

He had noticed Makalaurë falling silent every time he caught sight of him, his face contorting in a polite grimace that barely hid the sneer that wanted to come out. And Tyelkormo had the feeling, seeing the cold judgement, the lack of trust, in his brother’s eye, that perhaps he lost something he had never meant to lose by telling him what he thought of his plan to go after Maitimo. Time would tell if losing his brother’s trust was worth it, he supposed.

He had noticed Ambarussa talk, and stop often, falling silent as soon as they saw either him or Makalaurë, eyes full of doubts.

He had noticed Carnistir being… uncharacteristically cautious around him and Makalaurë, as if he feared a random comment would ignite something they’d all regret.

He had noticed Curufinwë making himself particularly busy, teaching his son something that Tyelkormo was pretty sure young Telperinquar already knew well anytime he or Makalaurë approached him.

Every time he noticed those behaviours, he wanted to get in the face of his brothers and start a fight.

They had made that decision, the decision to yes abandon their elder brother to Morgoth, by a majority vote. Yes it was him who voiced the need to not go after Maitimo like idiots, but they had all voiced their opinion on it.  

If they had something to say against his reasoning, or against their brother’s terribly fey mood, they should say it honestly. Void, they should have said it earlier even.

Their mother had been right when she said that the silent treatment was unhelpful to the extreme. To think he used to believe that it at least avoided unnecessary conflict…

Tyelkormo thought to give his siblings space and joined scouting parties every day, leaving to his brothers the duty of commanding their people as a whole.

They didn’t know the land enough to separate anyway.

Besides it gave him the possibility to fight whatever creature came after them and that helped him control his fraying temper.

And oh, the land was crawling with creatures in need of being sent to what served as their afterlife.

Orcs for instance. Orcs were truly disturbing creatures.

He had barely been able to see them when he had first encountered them, relying more on his perception of movements in the dark than on actual sight. The problem was that they surrounded themselves with lights in the camps they made. Torches, their father’s lamps… Whatever worked.

Only it didn’t work well when it came to fight in the dark.

But now, now his eyes were pretty used to the night sky and the environment, and the orcs were… Well, ugly to start with.

But it wasn’t just that.

They were… Disturbing in the way they moved, like they were something between feral creatures, civilized enough to use weapons. Their eyes lit up like that of nocturnal animals in the light of the torches and they were looking sick and frighteningly cold, full of such hatred that Tyelkormo was pretty sure no elf ever truly deserved, not even them kinslayers and cursed as they were.

For that patrol that day, Tyelkormo joined a scouting party composed of his own hunters. People he’s known since he was little.

Once they were far enough from the camp, Loscarmë turned to him with hesitation. Tyelkormo waited patiently. Loscarmë never hesitated for long, not with him.

“My lord… We…”

Tyelkormo tilted his head to the side, observing his friend. It wasn’t in his habit to be shy. To the contrary even, the elf was usually near unstoppable and even worse than him in putting his foot in his mouth.  

“Yes?”

“I know we’re cursed, I mean, we all know it, we all heard it. Lord Námo wasn’t shy in letting every Noldo know about that. But… We’ve noticed that… hm… I’m sorry but…”

“Take a deep breath and say it. I won’t be mad.”

“We have been having worse and worse luck as we’ve been hunting without obeying the rites of the Hunt that you used to apply before.”

That took Tyelkormo by surprise, and felt to him like a punch to the gut.

Well he knew why Loscarmë had been hesitant now.

“The Valar turned their back on us. ‘Not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains’, remember? I doubt lord Oromë will pay attention to… Well… Us.”

Tyelkormo noticed Loscarmë exchange a helpless look with another of their party, and he sighed.

“Alright, fine, it can’t hurt anyway, can it? We’ll scout around, and we’ll do the rites, and leave a sacrifice when we’re done, and see what will happen then.”

At worst Oromë will simply not care, and nothing will happen. Tyelkormo doubted that Oromë would stoop so low as to lead Moringotto to them out of spite so…

And at best… Well, at best perhaps Oromë will still see fit to bless their party, though he doubted it.

The elves in his party seemed to take hope from the announcement, and they kept going, carefully watching their surroundings.

They came not upon prey they could hunt for food, but upon orcs. It looked to be a scouting party as well… but the elves were quieter… And more deadly.

Tyelkormo relished in the violence of the fight. It wasn’t right, he supposed, to relish in violence, but while he was fighting for his life, he didn’t have to think of anything else.

The fight was short. The orcs all fell.

“Wait, stop! What are you doing?!” Tyelkormo called Loscarmë as he saw the elf take a dagger and put it in the torso of a dead orc, ready to cut it open.

“… I’m taking the heart to leave as a sacrifice for a successful scouting mission?”

Tyelkormo hesitated.

On one hand it would be just so easy to do, the orcs were dead and their bodies available but…

On the other hand the orcs seemed to be thinking creatures and to cut open the body of a creature that had probably somewhat of a civilization… Language at least, elaborate tools… Was… Unheard of. And on a non-cultural but very religious side of it, the orcs were foul creatures that felt foul…

And it seemed wrong to him to sacrifice something so foul to Oromë. Whether or not he had been uncaring in the end, he didn’t deserve to be given a foul offering. He still taught them well. He still welcomed them among his Hunters and he still gave them his blessing.

Giving something foul as an offering felt like an insult.

Better no offering at all.

Not that he was going to voice any of his opinion. He was pretty sure there were considerations that his people didn’t want to acknowledge he had. After all, Fëanáro’s family was well known to have only scientific disdain for faith. And utter contempt for the Valar.

And never mind that his father had been entirely hypocritical about it since he used to adore working with Aulë and Tyelkormo was quite certain that some knowledge he had obtained from the vala was actually a gift. But ah…He had no proof and no will to engage in this debate with anyone. The shadow of his father, even deceased, was terrifying enough.

“Don’t. Not the orcs.”

“My prince…”

“No. That’s not negotiable. You don’t thank Oromë for a successful hunt by leaving behind something foul that’s more likely to poison any animal brave enough to eat the sacrifice than to be of any help.”

Loscarmë took his dagger out of the creature and looked at Tyelkormo with a strange sense of grief.

“Then what can we do? There’s only those foul beasts around.”

He wasn’t wrong, the sound of the fight, or the orcs, would have driven any animal away by now.

Tyelkormo sighed.

“Come. Let’s take some distance and may those orcs rot in the void. I’ll… Figure something out.”

He had a pretty good idea too.

Tyelkormo took a look at Huan and grimaced at seeing the state of the hound after the fight:

“You are getting a bath at the first opportunity, just so you know.”

And the more he thought on it as they walked away, walking in somewhat of a circle around their camp, the more he had the certainty he was right.

If it’s a hint, my lord, it’s not subtle! Tyelkormo thought silently.

He received no answer, and shivered in the dark, though Huan came to lean against him.

Once their turn was over and they were ready to rejoin the rest of the host, Tyelkormo stopped and looked at his men who were looking at him with expectation.

“Alright. Alright. Let’s do this.”

Tyelkormo stood in front of them. He felt unsure in a way he hadn’t been in years when it came to following the rites of the Hunt.

“Today was successful. We lost none of our party and a party of orcs, our foes, have been killed. Despite the distance... Despite our deeds, despite our doom, let us thank Oromë for this success.”

Tyelkormo had no food on him, nothing that would be suitable as a sacrifice that he could leave behind in the forest…

He made a shallow cut on his arm and let his blood flow slowly on the floor of the forest, reciting the usual prayer of thanks he used to say in Valinor. He preferred to leave a piece of meat for animals to feast on when they’d find it, but whatever worked in the end.

If giving a sacrifice to Oromë could somewhat guarantee some victory and some food on their plates while they settled, he’d do it with gratitude for the help. 

The members of the party listened to his prayers, some probably praying silently in their corner, and when they were done, he hid the cut on his arm with his sleeve. He’d have to find a better solution for next time, if there was a next time, or his brothers would find it alarming.

Or perhaps they would just not care, who knew?  

Upon their return to the others, they crossed paths with Carnistir who finally looked at Tyelkormo without looking away in an effort to avoid a conversation.

“Brother.”

Tyelkormo snorted at that.

“So you decided I was worth talking to finally?”

Starting an argument seemed better than to give Carnistir the opportunity to notice and wonder about the cut on his arm. Either he’d have to lie on how he got it, or he’d have to tell the truth and he could already hear the arguments. No, better to distract by a good old brotherly fight.

“I was not… Overjoyed at your… our reasoning and situation.” His brother answered carefully.

“Yet you also voiced a similar opinion. So isn’t it a case of the cauldron calling the pot black?”

“We decided to abandon our brother, Tyelko. I’m sorry if I’m not overjoyed that being cautious cost us a member of our family!” Carnistir snapped.

“Only fools rush ahead without an idea of what may await them. I didn’t take you for a fool brother.”

“And I didn’t take you for a coward.” Makalaurë voiced from nearby.

“Well, I guess we can all be disappointed then, Makalaurë.”

“Were you injured in this scouting mission?”

“No. We did cross paths with orcs. It looked like a small scouting party.”

“Did any escape?”

“No.”

“Well, at least you’re useful for something.” Makalaurë said snidely before crossing over to talk to one of their people.

Tyelkormo’s hands closed into fists and he took a deep breath to avoid the temptation to start a brawl with his brother. It was one thing to put your fist in the face of your unbearable older brother, it was another to put your fist in your king’s face.

Alas.