Not long after the Kinslaying and the angry mob comes a time of restless nights for the House of Anorwë. Carcírion does not depart for the mainland; with the Havens of Sirion destroyed and the refugees secure on the Isle of Balar, there is no further need for flotillas, and ships travel singly or in pairs to patrol the coasts. This means the Red Mariner spends more time ashore with his family, and this brings a little joy to his heart. One such night as Gilalaith sleeps fitfully, he rises from their bed and paces the halls, passing the chamber his daughters share.
Carcírion smiles as he looks at the chamber door, hearing muted voices from within. Seregrían and Hartagil often chat long into the late watches of the night, sometimes in the giddiness of youth, other times with heartfelt words; but not this night. As he listens, it is plain the girls are arguing.
“Do not fret so, Seregrían nethig nin. You defended yourself well enough, you took to staff-fighting and used the lessons well –“
“That’s just the point, belegnith – I shouldn’t have had to fight! That mob would never have come here if it weren’t for the Kinslayers, curse them all –“
“All? Even me? Even you? Like or not, this family is looked on as Noldor – and Carcírion is even called ‘blood traitor’ by his own. You look like one of us, and you are assumed as such - oh, do not roll your eyes at me!”
“And what’s this ‘little sister’ you always say? I’m older than you, Hartagil, and the ‘big sister’ title is mine, not just yours because of size!”
“What a thing to be upset about! What about something real? If I were as pretty as you, maybe I could have boys in armor marching up the path to my door –“
“Don’t you dare bring up Maribar again, you – and what about you, making eyes at him when we saw him afterward! I didn’t accept that theatrical apology that night, but you certainly fell for it. I’ve known him far longer than you, and I know what he is, and isn’t.”
“You and your schoolgirl rivalries; you hate the word nethig, but you act like a child still!”
“Schoolgirl, is it? Says the one who looks all doe-eyed when that fool appears, like you’re seeking a courtship – wait until he finds out you snore!”
A laugh, then “Why, Seregrían, now it is plain to see - you are jealous! All this time, it is you who has vied for Maribar’s eye! For all that leviathan intellect of yours, has it not occurred to you he has been interested in you since the start!?"
“Dung! Dung twice!! And dung upon you too, if you think that - that creature has any amorous designs upon any other than you! You say I’m pretty, but who’s the one they all call morbanath – as if I can compete with the Black Beauty, my own sister!”
“Oh, of course, and the Valar forbid that my name should share the same breath as the Blood-queen – or maybe the Ice-queen, perhaps? You freeze out all the boys who even dare speak to you! Just because I welcome a boy’s advances does not mean you have to cause a blizzard every time your favorite one shows up – ow!! You dare!?”
Carcírion chooses that moment to throw open the chamber door, to see the two girls writhing on the bed, each with a handful of the others’ hair, Seregrían struggling in Hartagil’s grip. Seizing a pitcher of water from the nightstand, he douses the two with it, their outrage turning to gasps of shock as he stands over them.
“Cease this at once!” Carcírion shouts, a tone he reserves for disciplining his mariners. “Have we not had enough of combat these past few weeks? Seregrían, I cannot believe this – brawling, as if you’re still not come of age yet! Hartagil, baiting your sister like this! By Uinen’s robes, I am so cross with the two of you, I know not what to do – but when I do know, both of you shall regret this night! Now march, both of you!” He storms out to the main salon, the girls following, cowed into silence. In the middle of the room, he grabs two chairs and sets them back-to-back, and points; the two girls sit without a word.
“Sit there, both of you,” Carcírion growls. “Do not speak, do not move, until I bid you may – I shall hear if you do. The first to break the ban shall earn every cleaning chore for a month – including every chamber pot in the house!!” Both Seregrían and Hartagil look straight forward, their jaws tightly clenched, hands folded in their laps as their father stalks out of the room. Upon turning down the corridor, he is met by Gilalaith, standing in her nightgown, her arms crossed, but with an amused smile playing on her upturned face.
“A moment before the mast, for both of them?” she says.
“Just trying to be as clever as you, my love,” he replies. “Let the silence eat at them. They love each other, and their own consciences will punish them far worse than anything I can contrive.”
“Wisely done, my husband. And I need no explanation as to why; I could hear every word, they weren’t holding back.” A sigh, then, “They each are jealous of the other, and yet each would fight for the other.”
“My wife, I think it’s well past time they should recite the gwethnoss and be formal sisters, do you agree?”
“Not yet, dear one. Everyone sees them as sisters except themselves. They say the words, true, but their hearts don’t mean it yet. Maybe this will finally turn the page for them both. Seregrían and Hartagil are destined for many years together, but they have to move past the rivalry they have yet to admit.”
“For that, they need time; and I don’t believe that there is enough time left to the Elves for that…”
Next Chapter: The Shape of the World
