Hunter's Jewel Chapter 5
Avarion was quick to notice Mireloth's mood when she re-entered his tent. She looked weary, but at the same time elated. He was even more surprised when Mireloth, out of the clear blue sky, embraced him. "What are you so happy about, Mireloth?" he asked.
"I was asked to dinner," she replied, humming a lively tune all the while.
"By whom, if I may be so bold as to ask?"
"Lord Celegorm."
Avarion was stunned. "You are happy about this? He attacked you not too long ago, Mireloth."
"It's not as if I have ever been asked to dinner before, Avarion."
Mireloth saw Avarion shake his head in shock and amusement, but paid it little mind. She looked through her tiny trunk to find which dress of hers was cleanest. She found the light blue dress had the fewest bloodstains. It wasn't her favorite, but it would do. She laid the dress aside carefully, and went back to helping Avarion. This amounted to cleaning up the royal mess he always left behind after a day's work. Empty spools were discarded, bandages put away, and various metal objects were placed in cheap miruvor, the only available disinfectant. "Avarion, it would help if you kept this place a little neater," Mireloth grumbled.
"Mireloth, my dear, when you have children of your own, you will find that neatness is unnecessary," laughed Avarion.
"What makes you think I will ever have children?"
"You will. I know how far away marriage seems to one so young, but it will happen."
Avarion settled down and poured them both a glass of wine. When Avarion inquired about her first day in the recovery tent, Mireloth replied that it was rewarding, but exhausting. Avarion did not seem surprised, and told her they would only keep her there for four more days. It took its toll even on experienced healers. Mireloth silently thanked the Valar for this relief.
The next day was just as frantic for Mireloth as the first. She didn't get to stand still for more than five minutes at a stretch. What few breaks she had she spent with Curufin. "You will be joining us for dinner tonight, Mireloth?" he asked on one of her short breaks.
"Yes, my lord Curufin, your brother was generous enough to invite me. But, if I may ask, why did he do so? I thought me had more mind to flay me alive," Mireloth replied.
"He did. That's what is strange about Celegorm; he can be perfectly content one moment, then fly into a murderous rage the next. Even Maedhros cannot predict him all of the time."
"Should I be frightened of this, ah, unpredictability?"
"No. You've already earned his respect, Mireloth."
Mireloth was puzzled by this revelation. How could she have earned his respect when all she did was hit him with a clay jar? And that was after he attacked her. An animal has that kind of courage, she thought. She thought about her situation until her next reasonable break came. She started over to Curufin's bed, only to see that he was already gone. Another soldier was in his place. She walked over to him to see if he needed anything, but found that this one would not be asking for anything soon. He was unconscious. Mireloth instead went to tend to the other nineteen who were clamoring for one thing or another. She barely noticed when the next healer came to take over. Mireloth numbly handed her water pitcher to her successor and left the recovery tent. When she was finally able to drag herself to Avarion's tent, she promptly flopped down on a chair and put her head in her hands. Avarion looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Tired, are we?" he asked.
"Only a little, Avarion," Mireloth replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Good. Then I trust you are ready for your little outing tonight? He will be here in less than an hour."
Less than an hour? Mireloth leaped up, grabbed her blue dress, and hurriedly changed her clothes. She trusted Avarion to grant her some privacy by not turning around. Next she put on her only necklace, a seashell on a light silver chain. Mireloth worried about her dress. It was low and tight across the front, a relic of her earlier years, when her dress and attitude were less restrained. She pulled it up as high as she could without compromising the length. Better, she thought. Next came the matter of her unruly hair. She easily undid the braids, but untangling was another matter. After she finished fighting her own hair a quarter hour later, she looked for something that resembled a comb. Mireloth did find something, she didn't know what, exactly, but it would do. Her hair now fell to the middle of her back, a little wavy from being tied up in braids for so long. She looked herself up and down, thinking she was ready. "Mireloth?"
She turned to face Avarion, who continued, "Would you like me to lace up the back of your dress?" Mireloth glanced behind herself with horror. She felt Avarion gently work the laces up the back of her dress. While he was working, Mireloth questioned Celegorm's motives once again. What was this meant to be: atonement, apology, or something more. She hadn't missed the way Celegorm looked at her after she tacitly accepted his invitation. Eldarin lords, she sighed to herself, so disarmingly handsome, but so vexingly complicated!
Celegorm was elated. He had fully expected Mireloth to run away screaming at his offer. He regained his surface composure, and made his way back to his brothers' tent. Celegorm was not surprised to see Maedhros poring over several maps. His eldest brother didn't even look up when he said, "Well?"
"Tell the servants to set another place at dinner tomorrow," replied Celegorm.
Maedhros regarded his brother with an arched eyebrow. "I certainly hope you didn't threaten her again, Celegorm."
"I learned my lesson from the last time I tried. What are those maps, Maedhros?"
"Plans. We will renew the assault in four days. The soldiers need a chance to recover."
"Have you spoken to King Fingolfin about this?"
"Yes. He agrees fully with my plans. I only hope we can defeat Morgoth fully this time." Maedhros sat back down, and looked at his brother with sadness. "I never imagined all this bloodshed would come from three simple jewels."
"You regret all of this, my brother?"
"I think you know the answer to that, Celegorm. You, however, have more pressing concerns. Like looking presentable tomorrow. And, do watch out for Maglor. I think he's sitting on the floor somewhere."
Celegorm barely heard the last thing his brother said. He was already starting for his chest in the next part of the tent. Rather than go through the contents carefully, he just upended the whole thing on the ground. What was once neatly folded lie in a jumble on the dirt floor. Sifting through the mess, he found a pair of black breeches and a tunic the shade of dark sapphire. Unlike the rest of his clothes, which he just rammed back into the trunk, he laid these two objects neatly on a chair. Only then did Celegorm notice the twins eying him with some interest. "Well, well, for once, Celegorm the Fair actually takes an interest in what he wears," joked Amrod.
"Don't even think about it, both of you. I know what you are planning," growled Celegorm.
"What could we possibly be planning for your lovely outfit, brother?" asked Amras innocently.
"I've lived with you two for too long not to expect something. Perhaps the tunic will mysteriously 'vanish', or there will be an interesting 'pattern' sewn on the breeches. I don't know, and I don't care; leave them alone."
"Celegorm, you're so tense now that someone could use you as a bowstring. Go out; take a walk, or something. Rest assured, nothing will happen to your precious ensemble," laughed Amrod.
Somehow, Celegorm was not comforted by the twins' promise. He shot a final glare at both Amras and Amrod, and went back outside. He walked until he found a relatively quiet place, and eased himself to the ground. Night was always his favorite, because the darkness hid so much. It could hide the look of misery on someone's face, a lover's tryst, or blood spilled on a pale dress. He lifted his gaze to the stars, a poor consolation for what they had lost. All for those silly jewels. How many have I already killed, Celegorm wondered, and how many more lives will I take before this Oath is banished? If he ever repeated his foolish actions from Alqualonde, well, Celegorm told himself that he would sheath his hunting knife in his heart before he did so again. He had threatened Mireloth out of anger and pride, but never again would he raise a blade against any lady, of any race. In Celegorm's mind, no action committed was more shameful than that.
When Celegorm got the strength to return to his brothers' tent, he wanted to be alone again. Surely all of them would try to lighten his mood before dinner. None would succeed. It was near sunset; and he would soon have to escort Mireloth to the company of his brothers. He put on his breeches and tunic, and attempted to clean his grime- encrusted boots. All the while he wondered if there was any purpose to his preparations. Mireloth had probably only accepted out of fear, and how could he blame the girl? Bitterness eclipsed all previous joy. Celegorm knew he would never find anything he sought in Arda. He could nearly taste the bitterness at his last thought: What hope is there for a Kinslayer?
A/N: Please forgive me for the terrible delay. This chapter surprised me by being the most problematic of all. I wanted to go more into depth about Celegorm's situation, and I truly hope I have succeeded. Thanks to all who have encouraged me so far, and for not killing me for the delay J
