A Huntress Among Fools by Isilme_among_the_stars  

Insufferable

Fingon had been insufferable of late. He was so relentlessly positive. The relative warmth and safety of Hithlum (though still not overly endowed with either) had loosened the previously frozen tongues of the people, it seemed. The calf-eyed looks Fingon attracted as they stumbled over one another to express their gratitude was going to his head. Aredhel swore she could see his chest swell when an admiring subject began waxing poetic.

Fingon the Valiant. Fingon the brave. Thank you so much for hauling me out of the frozen waters, Fingon. Thanks to you, my prince, I made it all the way to Lake Mithrim, with only the small loss of a few fingertips and toes to frostbite.

If Aredhel had to listen to one more person heap praise on her brother while she stood right beside him, completely disregarded, she might scream. The praises were well deserved, she must admit. But was it only Fingon who scouted ahead over the treacherous shifting ice of the Helcaraxë? Didn’t Aredhel also take her fair share of that hazardous duty? Was it only Fingon who dove into those frigid waters to save the hapless among them from drowning? Aredhel had lost count of the souls she had dragged, dripping and shuddering out of the freezing depths. And what of sustenance? It certainly was not Fingon who brought them the lion share of food during those lean years. Aredhel was the one with a knack for catching seals. It was Aredhel who had brought down not one, but three of the great white bears that roamed the ice. She had always been a better huntress than her brothers, having learned a thing or two from her Fëanorion cousin. Fingon was brave and bold, but Aredhel was observant and fierce.

Aredhel recalled how it had so often galled Fingon to be teased by Celegorm when he returned from shared hunting trips empty handed. Their cousin’s timing didn’t much help matters. Celegorm frequently let loose his coarse, stinging barbs, as he helped Aredhel drag a healthy sized stag back to camp or surveyed a brace of rabbits she had caught with approval. Then he’d ice the cake later by suggesting Fingon make himself useful playing cook as he handed him a slab of freshly butchered meat. Her brother would have done better if he’d chosen a hunting partner other than head-in-the-clouds Finrod, of course, who frequently wandered off before the prey was even in sight. Aredhel smirked to herself thinking of Celegorm’s remarks on that particular matter.

“Something amusing sister?” Fingon asked mildly.

“Nothing that you’d find funny.”

“Alright, then.”

Turgon would have been suspicious. He would not have let the matter drop until he’d found a way to make her tell. Fingon just took her at her word. It wasn’t that he lacked insight, only he had no desire for an argument, so he didn’t pursue the matter. That was the most infuriating thing about all the attention her brother was getting. He genuinely deserved it. Fingon was so damned nice, one could not begrudge anyone loving him. It was no act either, he really was that guileless and sincere. He genuinely cared about their people. There were no hidden motivations, no political stratagems at play. All he had to do was wave his sword around a bit for their benefit (he wielded his sword so handsomely), and people loved him for it.

Aredhel lacked Fingon’s natural charm. People only admired her from a distance, and mostly for her looks, she thought. Increasingly frequently, she was called upon to fulfil duties she hated and got little thanks for it. Meanwhile her brother seemed to relish every task their father set him. How she wished her frustration with Fingon for this disparity were justifiable! Then guilt would not heap upon her irritation, transforming it into rage worthy of her late uncle Fëanor.

Fingon frowned as if he had just remembered something, “you had best go find father. He has new duties for you.”

“If it is more of the same mundane and safe drudgery inside this camp, then I am in a mind to refuse.”

Fingon fixed her with a questioning look.

Aredhel sighed, “Of course I shall do as father asks. But I would be of far more use to him if he would allow me to leave this encampment and join one of the hunting or scouting parties.”

“Take that up with him,” Fingon encouraged, “only allow him to ensure where-ever it is he sends you is safe enough.”

“I can hold my own in the wilds just as well as you.”

“I know that!” Fingon gave her a good-natured shove. Laughing gaily, he shooed her toward father’s command tent, striding towards it himself, no doubt to be told in which direction to explore next. Lucky sod, Aredhel thought.