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Stealth Mission - Írissë
Írissë had gone hunting with Telperion lighting her way before, but she couldn’t say she had ever really done anything like this. Yes, she had hunted many different beasts in Oromë’s forests, from swift deer to cantankerous boars, but tonight she was tracking her own brother through the streets of Tirion, concealing herself in alleyways and furtively glancing around corners to see where he would head next.
There was a first time for everything, she supposed—and as the most capable of her siblings at remaining unseen, Findekáno and Arakáno had entrusted her with this important task. She would not fail them. She could not. If she did not succeed, her reputation as a huntress would be tarnished...and she might never know where it was that Turukáno had been sneaking off to for the past few weeks.
So far, Turukáno had not left the district that surrounded the royal palace and contained the homes of most of the king’s advisors and courtiers. There weren’t many people on the streets at this hour, so Írissë had to remain a good distance behind her brother. However, his tall form was easy to keep track of, even if he had pulled the hood of his cloak up in hopes of obscuring his face from view.
He made his way through the silver-lit streets with determination—he clearly had a destination in mind. He also frequently turned to look behind him, as if he either feared or knew that someone was following him. He’d nearly caught Írissë several times, forcing her to duck behind empty market stalls or quickly take shelter in a doorway.
When they reached the square that held the Archives of the Lambengolmor, Írissë had to admit that she wasn’t exactly surprised. Whether it was Turukáno’s personal study at home or the library at Haru Finwë’s palace, her brother liked to spend time in silence surrounded by dusty tomes. The very thought of devoting multiple hours of the day to sitting indoors staring at paper and ink made her feel fatigued and restless at the same time.
What was surprising was that another cloaked and hooded figure was waiting for Turukáno in front of the Archive’s grand doors. Írissë’s eyes lit up with fascination, and she found herself a good hiding spot beside the base of a statue depicting Imin, Tata, and Enel looking up at the ancient stars at Cuivienen. So Turukáno wasn’t sneaking out to have a quiet study session. Part of her was relieved—a clandestine meeting would be much more interesting to report back to Findekáno and Arakáno than a night of studying.
Turukáno’s long strides brought him across the square quickly, and much to Írissë’s surprise, he embraced the other figure, winding his arms about their waist and bending his face close to theirs, shadowed by both their hoods. From what Írissë could tell from a cursory glance, the mystery figure was a nís , and was likely to be at least related to the Vanyar, if the blonde curls that protruded from the sides of her hood were any indication.
Írissë did not have the opportunity to make any further observations—the way their bodies pressed together in the next moment made it excruciatingly clear that they were kissing. Blushing to the very tips of her ears and feeling more than a bit repulsed, Írissë turned away.
How had it not occurred to her that Turukáno might be sneaking off to see a lover? To be fair, Turukáno wasn’t the sort to have scandalous liaisons—or any liaisons at all, as far as Írissë knew. She’d always assumed that if he ever intended to court someone, he would announce it publicly and make sure he and his spouse-to-be were chaperoned properly at all times.
Hoping that the kiss was over, Írissë dared to peek around the side of the statue again and was relieved to see that Turukáno and…whoever it was were simply speaking in hushed tones. She couldn’t hear any of their words, and for that she was grateful. She did not want to hear the sort of sweet nothings Turukáno might whisper into his lover’s ear. The very thought caused her to wrinkle her nose in distaste.
Surely this was enough information to bring back to Findekáno and Arakáno—and perhaps together they could figure out the identity of Turukáno’s mysterious companion. Írissë remained in her hiding place for a few minutes more, risking occasional glances at her brother to see if he intended on standing around outside the Archives for the rest of his life or if he and his beloved planned to go elsewhere.
After what seemed like an eternity, the couple made their way from the square, and Írissë heaved a sigh of relief before setting off for home.
Walwistë - Findekáno
“My apologies, brother, but I believe I have beaten you again.” Findekáno placed the last of his pieces on the gameboard before him, and his youngest brother’s face fell as he was forced to flip over several of his own pieces.
“Ugh, you’ve been spending too much time with Maitimo,” Arakáno grumbled. “He must be teaching you all the secret techniques.”
“Now, now. What would Atya say?” Findekáno chided—but it was gentle. He knew how Arakáno hated to lose.
Arakáno rolled his eyes. “ Walwistë is not about whether you win, but about what you learn. But I don’t think he took you into account. If you always win, what could you possibly learn?”
“Why, to win graciously, of course,” Findekáno said, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense and earning himself a begrudging snort of laughter from Arakáno.
Both brothers turned to look as the door to Findekáno’s chambers opened, and Írissë slipped into the room, dressed in dark grey instead of her typical white and silver. She pulled back her hood to reveal shining eyes and a wicked grin, but said nothing until she had removed her cloak and put it down on the floor, sitting beside the low table that held the walwist ë board.
“Well?” Arakáno asked, nudging her with his bare foot from where he sat nearby on a pillow decorated with embroidered birds. “What news? What news?”
“My mission was a resounding success,” she answered, swatting Arakáno’s foot away and regarding each of her brothers with a dramatic waggle of the eyebrows. “Would you care to guess where I found our dear Turukáno?”
“No,” Arakáno said.
Írissë glared at him. Findekáno half expected her to stick out her tongue, but she surprised and impressed him by simply saying, “You’re no fun.”
“I’ll play along,” Findekáno said, displaying his most charming courtly smile and leaning forward so his elbows and forearms rested on the game table in front of him. “Did he finally find a place to study where he won’t be subject to interruptions from his raucous and uncouth siblings?”
“Close,” Írissë said, drawing out the word as if in thought. “He did go to the Archives.”
“But he wasn’t studying?” Arakáno asked.
Írissë smiled like a cat with a mouse’s tail held under its paw. “Oh, I didn’t say that. He was rather intently studying the form of the mysterious nís he met there!”
While Arakáno was stunned into a rare silence, Findekáno gave a groan that was also partially a laugh. Oh, this was too good. “Only Turno would choose a library for his secret romantic rendezvous. Even when he sneaks out of the house like he’s about to go make some proper mischief, he still manages to be straight-laced.” He shook his head, but there was a smile on his lips. “I don’t know how he does it.”
“At least he’s not pining after a Fëanárion,” Arakáno muttered.
Írissë’s eyes narrowed. “Why you…”
“Peace, Rissë,” Findekáno said, holding up a hand. “And Arno, that was uncalled for.” He was patient, but not patient enough to wait for the two of them to spiral into a fight. His two youngest siblings would spar with words for hours if left to their own devices. Even though both of them were grown now, their spats still occasionally escalated to actual yelling, shoving, and hair pulling. “Did you recognize her?”
“No,” Írissë said. “I couldn’t see her face. But she was golden-haired.”
Ah, now there was a clue! “The only friend Turno has with hair like that is Finda, and you would have known if it was him. He’s not particularly stealthy.” Findekáno pursed his lips in thought, tapping the bottom one with a finger. “Weren’t there some young folk from Valmar who arrived a few months ago to study with the Lambengolmor?”
“There were,” Arakáno said, nodding. “I met them—or at least some of them—at Raitaro’s begetting day celebration.”
“Oh yes, didn’t one of them spend the whole evening flirting with you?” Írissë asked.
“Where did you hear that?” Arakáno snapped, a blush worthy of cousin Carnistir covering his cheeks and spreading out to the very tips of his ears.
“Oh, a little bird told me.”
“You mean Tyelkormo . He was there. And he’s neither little nor a bird. Stop being coy.”
Írissë opened her mouth to reply but Findekáno pulled the conversation back on topic by asking, “Well, do you think you could find out which one of the Vanyar might be sneaking off with our brother?” This was shaping up to be a wonderful and very entertaining mystery, and he wasn’t about to let his siblings’ rivalry with one another cancel out the opportunity to satisfy their collective curiosity.
“I can try,” Arakáno replied. He twisted a lock of hair around his finger as he always did when he was either deep in thought or nervous, and his gaze drifted toward the ceiling. “Perhaps I’ll ask Raitaro the next time we spar. He might remember who was there—they’re his cousins, I think, so maybe he can give me some insight.”
Martial Prowess - Arakáno
“If you can defeat me, I’ll tell you the name of Turno’s paramour,” Arakáno said, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling wolfishly down at Findekáno and Írissë from where he sat on the fence of the practice ring.
Raitaro had departed a few minutes earlier (defeated, of course, but he’d managed to land a few good blows before Arakáno scored the final point), and he’d given Arakáno exactly the information he’d been looking for. Of Raitaro’s three cousins, the eldest was married and the youngest had been the one flirting with Arakáno. That left the middle one, and she fit the meager description Írissë had been able to give him—a nís , slightly taller than average, with curly golden hair. And he’d learned from Raitaro that she had an interest in engineering. That had to be Turukáno’s lady love.
Now he wanted to make his siblings work for the knowledge they desired—it was rare that he had something to hold over their heads, and he planned on making the most of it.
“We should have known he’d do something like this,” Írissë muttered under her breath to Findekáno.
Findekáno’s expression remained carefully neutral. If there was some kind of award for ignoring Írissë’s foolishness (and sometimes Arakáno’s own, but not nearly as often as their rebellious sister’s!) the eldest of the Ñolofinwions would have won it ten times over.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just tell us?” Findekáno asked after a moment. Honestly, it was like he had studied everything Maitimo did to try to keep his horde of siblings in check. “We all want to know.”
“Yes. That’s why I’m making it fun. ” Aulë ’s bollocks, even these two were acting as uptight as Turno.
“But what if you win? How can we tease Turno properly then?” Írissë demanded. Whiner. She was just afraid of losing to his superior strength in arms—the only thing he’d ever been better at than any of his siblings.
“You’ll just have to challenge me again.”
“You’re an ass.” Írissë grumbled. Perhaps she thought Arakáno hadn’t heard, but he had, and his smile only widened.
“Rules?” asked Findekáno, because of course he would.
“First touch.”
“Feeling confident today, are we?”
Arakáno simply laughed and hopped into the ring, his boots sending up tiny puffs of dust from the sandy dirt.
“Choose your weapons,” he said as he made his way to a rack full of wooden training weapons. The Quendi of Valinor had no need for real blades, but they’d turned their appreciation for martial pursuits into a way of training their minds and bodies without harming one another. When some among the Valar had protested, Tulkas had stepped in, defending the maintenance of the martial arts as a form of sport. Since Arakáno had come of age to participate, he’d won the grand melee at the Games in Valmar nearly every year—even for two of his siblings combined, he was a formidable opponent.
Today, he chose a quarterstaff. Írissë wasn’t fond of (or terribly good at) close combat, but she selected two short wooden swords, meant to stand in for her hunting knives. Unsurprisingly traditional, Findekáno took up a sword and buckler.
Arakáno grinned as they all readied themselves for the match. As long as he could land hits on both of them out without allowing them to get close, he’d be golden. Given that he had a clear advantage in terms of reach, he had a decent chance of winning.
Findekáno attacked first, testing his brother’s defenses with a simple lunge in, and a predictable riposte after Arakáno turned his blade aside. Engaged in this exchange as he was, he made sure to watch Írissë out of the corner of his eye. What she lacked in outright combat prowess, she more than made up for with speed and a keen sense of opportunity.
Eventually, she did try to rush in at him, but he swept his staff down, aiming at her feet, and she had to jump back to avoid being hit. Arakáno was careful to avoid being flanked, readjusting his position so he could keep both his siblings in view and well out of striking range.
The next few minutes were tense, with Írissë dancing just out of reach and Findekáno deflecting strikes with his buckler and always, always following up with a counterattack that Arakáno had to work hard to avoid.
Breathing hard, sweat dripping on his brow, Arakáno finally saw his chance. After knocking Findekáno briefly off balance, he whirled and charged at Írissë, who’d been trying to sneak around behind him again.
He was about to let out a triumphant laugh as he tapped the outside of Írissë’s leg with the staff—one opponent down, one more to go!—when his vision was suddenly clouded by stinging dust and grit as Írissë kicked at just the right angle to send the dirt of the practice ring up into his face. He instinctively staggered back and reached for his eyes with one hand, and in that moment he felt the flat of Findekáno’s wooden blade connect with the small of his back.
“Írissë! That’s against the rules!” Arakáno growled, scrubbing at his eyes with the hem of his tunic.
“The rules of the Games, maybe, but you didn’t say anything about it when Findekáno asked,” she said with a smile he knew she’d picked up from spending too much time with Tyelkormo. It made him want to kick dirt into her face, but he, as a proper gentleman, restrained himself.
“It was most discourteous,” Findekáno pointed out, an edge of scolding in his voice. “You’d be disqualified for it in a proper match.”
“This isn’t a proper match, though,” she said, and put her hands on her hips as best she could while still holding her weapons. “And anyway, it was you who struck the winning blow, not me.”
“I would have stayed my hand if I’d known you were going to do that ,” Findekáno said indignantly.
“And I would have told you what you wanted to know whether you actually beat me or not!” Arakáno interjected.
Írissë calmed a little and dropped her weapons. “So you were just being difficult.” She sighed, the anger in her expression fading as she regarded Arakáno’s eyes, now red and tearing with irritation. “Let me get you some water.”
Findekáno helped Arakáno to the bench beside the ring, and Írissë returned to them in a few moments, pressing a large tin cup filled with water into her younger brother’s hands.
He tipped his head back and poured the water over his eyes, spluttering as some of it made its way into his mouth and nose.
“Well, you’ve beaten me, fair or no. Her name -” he said as he caught his breath and dried his face with a handkerchief offered to him by Findekáno. “- is Elenwë.”