Chapter Text
Even if he was not among the couples joined together that summer, Miriwë was still pleased. With Vanië married, he had one less trouble to think of now. He were still only in the early stages of a possible relationship with Finiel and did not want anything to sour it to the point that it all broke down.
“You seems to be pleased today,” Mathan said at seeing the good mood his friend was in. They were borrowing a pottery kiln testing to see if the copper could be made into something else, a new shape for instance. Mahtan had even found a strange white thing deep inside a cave, which could be melted in a pot over fire as well. Now he was planning to see if it could be mixed with copper.
“Watch it now.”
Using two very long sticks, bound together with a snare, he carefully pulled out the pot with the melted tin and added it to the already melted-down copper. A smaller stick was used to try and mix it together, before Mahtan once again lifted it into a shaped form of hard clay.
“I do not think it is meant to sound…”
Before Miriwë finished, the hard clay cracked apart and the the attempted bronze fell out on the ground, which thankfully was of sand and not dry grass that could be set on fire.
“Hm. Guess that the heat was too low or something,” Mahtan muttered in displeasure. He really wanted to find a way to create better weapons for hunting and for killing orcs, yet so far he felt having a feeling that he was very limited in his attempts. Like lacking the knowledge in how to use a forge.
“Or it could another problem?” Celuwen suggested as she came back from the river with fresh water in the water skins, using a long stick to carry them all over a shoulder. Neither one of them had any answer.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
This day, Miriwë helped Finiel in her first riding lessons. Horses was not so common here among the various clans, less so for riding. So he had picked out the most mindly-minded mare among the births three summers ago and carefully trained her with the help of his friends.
“Easy now, don't be scared. Horses can sense the mood of people,” he warned in a stern voice.
Finiel wanted to say that she was not scared, but rather… something else. Jealous. Jealous of the many skills Miriwë seemed to have, many which made her feel inferior despite being of a higher social status. She had never been that great on cooking, she was hopeless at attempting to sew with needle and tread despite help from him, and he had a personality that made people at ease around him. Finiel had been told at times that she had a bad habit of indirectly playing favoritism and that she could be too hasty in making decisions. And what was worse, she was jealous over that warm relationship Miriwë had to his sister Beril. Finiel had never gotten a chance to have a true sibling, with her own parents already dead while she still had been an infant too young to remember them, and seeing Miriwë with his sister as they shared memories of their parents.
“Finiel! Stop daydreaming and straighten up, or you will soon fall off the mare to the ground!” Miriwë warned in a displeased voice at realizing that she was not focusing on what he was trying to teach her.
“Miriwë! One of the hunters have fallen against the pack of wolves we have been trying to get rid of! He is still alive, but he is on the edge between life and dead because of the injuries!”
Her riding lesson had to come to a sudden stop, he was needed by the tribe healers and shamans due to his unrivaled skills with the needle and thread.
Miriwë hurried to the sick tent, where the injured tribe members would be until recovery. Once he removed the tent opening and saw the injures, he realized why they had needed his help, it was a mess of claw wounds and bite marks.
“We have managed to clean the wounds with hot water and crushed medicinal herbs, but with all this blood…”
Yes, the blood made everything slippery, so he could hardly fault them for being worried for messing up.
“Move aside so I get some room here, please.”
Not for the first time, his superior skills in sewing proved very helpful on injuries like this. The hunter would have scars which hopefully would fade with time, and he would live unless an unexpected infection revealed itself from one of the cleaned wounds which Miriwë was now sewing closed.
“Thank you, Miriwë.”
“Do not thank me yet, we do not know if he will remain with us or join the afterlife,” he responded with a faint hint of worry in his voice. This would not the first time an Elf were lost on a hunt, depending on the prey it could very well end up with the hunter becoming the hunted.
Beril saw her brother leave the sick tent where he had been needed, but she could also see Elwë a bit away, glaring at Miriwë's vanishing back between the huts.
“Care to explain what my little brother have done to earn your indignation, my lord?” she asked without looking up from the rabbit she was currently skinning to have it ready as a evening meal.
“That is none of your business, woman,” he said in a rather rude manner without taking his eyes off where Miriwë just had returned to Finiel.
“Is that a correct way of addressing a fellow clan leader?” For even if her tribe was smaller than the Teleri, Beril was still a chieftainess equal to the rest.
She knew that Elwë still had not gotten over the humiliation he had suffered at their first meeting, but she would not allow him to take out his resentment over that event on her brother. She suddenly thrust her spear between his legs, sending Elwë flat on his back to the ground.
“I would watch that mouth if I was you, Long-legs. You can dislike me all you want, but leave Miriwë out of it. Or would you like to be disliked by someone thanks to your young brothers?!”
The last part, meant as a warning, seemed to shut him up for now as he thought it over. Though once Elwë rose to his feet, Beril gave him a warning tap with her spear on his shoulder as an admonition to not forget her words.
~X~X~X~X~X~X
Naturally, it soon became hard for people to not notice that the new Noldor leader was spending a lot of time around Miriwë. Some was, understandably, a bit unsure if it truly was wise of her to possibly find a mate in someone who belonged to another tribe than her own people, but others pointed out that a such marriage would bring more warriors to them.
Miriwë himself tried to not listen on gossip, as he now had started to weave on something which he hoped to be worn on a special event. Especially as almost no one outside Beril was allowed to catch a glimpse of it.
“You sure use a lot of colours on this.”
He looked up at hearing her enter their hut.
“I had a dream the night before I started on this one. I do not know how to describe what it looked like, but it was a strong fire burning with a strong power...and a star, surrounded by seven smaller fires…”
That was all Miriwë truly could explain the dream as, as it had been so unreal and strange for him. Especially as he also felt like he lacked proper words to describe it with. But he was sure that it had been a omen of his future, something the tribe shamans had agreed on when he had sought them out the morning after the mysterious dream.
“Whatever the dream meant, I hope that it is not gonna be a hot-headed brother-son I will get one day,” Beril teased with a slight hit on his arm. Miriwë laughed at the comment.
“It could very well be a brother-daughter too.”
Under his hands, a eight-rayed star in white yarn was slowly taking form on the loom, surrounded by his brightest yellow and red-dyed yarns, all made by adding the yarn to pots which first had been filled with boiling water before adding fresh weld leaves and flower stalks and then leave it overnight to gain the right yellow colour. He had done the same with madder root to get the red colour.
“Whatever the dream means, it sure gave you a unusual inspiration for a mating cloak at least.
A knock on the wooden structure to keep the hut up, was heard and Ingwë showed himself.
“My apologies, but could either one of you possibly watch Ingwion for a little? Neither my own parents or Isilmiel's parents can watch him at the moment for various reasons and my sister is still too busy with learning how to live apart from her family hut with her husband…”
“Of course we can watch him for a little time if that is what you need, come in here, little one.” offered Miriwë, much to the blond father's relief as having a toddler present at a important clan meeting would distract him a lot. Ingwion had just barely mastered the art of walking, and thus pretty much stumbled into the hut with a eager curiosity as Beril caught him.
“Egh!” he almost shrieked as a greeting the siblings, as he recognized Beril somewhat from seeing her talking at times with his ada. And naturally, he wanted to check if he could eat Miriwë's silver hair, as babies tended to view it as tasty-looking thanks to the unusual colour.
“No, no, my hair is not for eating, I am afraid, little one.”
Instead they gave Ingwion a baby-safe leather piece to play with and bite on, if that was needed.
Another Elf that Beril and Miriwë had befriended, was a Teleri Elf named Cirdan. He was one of the First Ones, the followers who had awoken under the stars after the third Elf-Father Enel and his mate Enelyë.
“A tale of the stars, try and find the signs of what might be hidden… ” he sang softly for himself, watching the calm waters of Cuiviénen as the stars was mirrored in the lake. Around him, several youngsters and maidens were dancing together.
“Come on, Cirdan, come and dance with us!” a young child pleaded, tugging on the tunic which he had gotten from Miriwë as a gift.
“Take it easy, it is not necessary to be that fast in dancing.”
~X~X~X~X~X~X
The next morning, Beril went to find Finiel. They needed to have a talk between four eyes, especially as the relationship between the other leader and her brother became more and more deep for every passing wake-period.
As per a spoken agreement a few days earlier, they met at the border of the forest outside the large Noldor camp.
“What was it that you wishes to talk about, Beril? Clearly something not meant for the ears of others.”
Beril looked over Finiel, closer at her behaviour and the way she talked. A part of her was not ready to let go of Miriwë, the only remaining relative left in her life until that she took a mate of her own and had offspring, but she knew that she had to let him go his own way eventually. She would not be able to protect him forever.
“I know that Miriwë likes you a lot, and you like him in return. However, as the younger brother to me, the leader of our tribe, he cannot just be given awaylike a trade gift to someone else. I admit to being somewhat overprotective of him because we both were very young when we lost our parents, but I truly want him to be with someone I can trust to protect him.”
Taking hold of her spear, Beril pointed its sharp flint tip against Finiel. Her black eyes showed how serious this was for her, as she said:
“If you cannot win over me in four out of seven duels, in seven wake-periods, I will not view you as worthy of my brother. Is that acceptable?”
At first, Finiel looked shocked over what Beril had said before she realized that this could be her best chance to have her permission to take Miriwë as a mate. Raising her hand, she took hold of Beril spear tip as a sign of accepting the challenge.
“Ten wake-periods from now, middle of the Noldor camp,” she responded.