Daughters of the Great by Himring  

Tatharaen sat before the door of her small workshop in the mellow evening light, working on one of her larger baskets. She had been pleased with how this one was coming along, but now found it difficult to keep her mind on her hands. Arthiel had left to have a private conversation with the Chieftain. The outcome of that conversation had the potential to change the course of Tatharaen’s life.

The late Chieftain Aragorn, killed last winter defending travellers against a large pack of the wolves on the road, had had many excellent qualities, but a harmonious home life was not among them. His wife, a proud woman, had stood her ground for some time, but one day she declared abruptly that she and her son were leaving for Rivendell to start Araglas’s education early. She packed and was gone within a day and that was the last the people in the Angle had seen of her, and also of Aragorn’s son and heir—and Aragorn, as far as was known, had made no serious attempt to stop them or fetch them back, despite a good deal of pressure from his father Aravir, who was then still living.

Instead, Aragorn had relied increasingly on the assistance of his young second cousin Arthiel, who had taken up tasks that customarily fell to the Chieftain’s wife when Aragorn succeeded as Chieftain. Arthiel had grown into the role of her Chieftain’s right hand, while nobody spoke much about his son, undergoing a very different training for his succession among the Elves out of sight. Despite having a temper of her own, Arthiel had mostly got on well with Aragorn.

Arthiel had taken it upon herself, she had confided to Tatharaen, to send messages to Rivendell, when Aragorn succeeded. Araglas was over the age of twenty-one by then but nobody seemed to be making a move.

‘It is not that I want him back all that much, personally,’ she had declared. ‘But this situation is a recipe for trouble brewing, surely, and the Chieftain refuses to see it.’

Tatharaen had quietly pointed out that Arthiel not really wanting Araglas back might also pose a problem, eventually. Arthiel had acknowledged it.

‘Even more of a reason to try and address it,’ she had concluded.

But while she had received polite letters in answer from Araglas and his mother, there had been no hints of a plan to return soon or even a forthcoming visit. Despite occasional further correspondence, things had continued unchanged. Probably everyone had imagined they had more time, Tatharaen thought. Aragorn’s chieftainship had been short indeed, by comparison; he might have lived for another five decades or more, like his father before him, if it had not been for those wolves. But Eriador had not been entirely safe for a very long time, and they should not have relied on such expectations.

Arthiel had dutifully notified Rivendell immediately when the news came. And, this time, Araglas returned to the Angle as soon as he received the message. His mother did not. Araglas declared her the Dunedain's official ambassador to Rivendell, instead. That was perhaps the first hint of Araglas’s own approach to such political issues.

The trouble Arthiel foresaw duly arrived. The people of the Angle viewed Araglas with some suspicion. This was a Chieftain who had apparently preferred the company of Elves to getting to know his own people. Did he have his head crammed full of impractical Elvish ideas and expectations? And soon they were also asking, as the man was now over thirty, with apparently no Mannish romantic interest in sight: was there maybe an Elvish sweetheart at the bottom of this? Was their new Chieftain mooning over some unsuitable and unattainable female in Rivendell? In that case, what about the succession?

Elven ideas Araglas certainly had. Which of them might be practical and which of them definitely were not, no way ever—he and Arthiel were soon at loggerheads over those questions, in one stormy council session after another. Arthiel found it just as hard to navigate relations with her new Chieftain as Tatharaen had feared. Not only was he noticeably her junior, but he had so much less practical experience of what the Dunedain needed from day to day. Inevitably, she railed at the injustice—she who had been more of a son to Aragorn than Araglas had been, except that by her birth she could not be what the tradition of the Dunedain required: a male heir in direct succession. It was she who had done all the work, she raged, while this Chieftainling just swept in, knowing nothing and thinking he knew everything, and expected her to let herself be walked over.

That was not what she said in those council sessions, of course. Despite her hot temper, all that kind of railing and raging was done in the hearing of Tatharaen only, the only one who she trusted with her feelings on the matter—and who she also trusted to take her outbursts with her grain of salt and talk her down whenever necessary. Nevertheless, it became common knowledge how frequently Araglas and Arthiel disagreed. People took sides. By no means everyone sympathized with Arthiel, despite those reservations about Araglas. Although she had earned their respect, some had only ever granted it somewhat grudgingly.

It was a great pity, thought Tatharaen. In other circumstances, she might have really liked Araglas, if she had got to know him better. She felt that a bit of Elvishness did not hurt anyone provided it was not taken to exaggerated lengths. They were Dunedain after all. Besides, maintaining contact with that tradition was what that training in Rivendell was supposed to be for, wasn’t it? However, her loyalty to Arthiel was absolute and, despite Arthiel’s temper, it was not Arthiel who was responsible for the difficulties of the situation they found themselves in, after all.

This private conversation now, which Araglas had requested this evening—as far as Tatharaen knew, it was the first time Araglas and Arthiel had spent any length of time talking without any other witnesses present. Maybe that was just what was needed, but it just seemed too much to hope for. By far the likelier outcome, thought Tatharaen, was that Araglas would tell Arthiel to leave if she could not see her way to cooperating or that Arthiel would feel herself being pushed and storm off in high dudgeon, committing herself to leaving before she could be asked to do so. And maybe the Angle really could not hold both Araglas and Arthiel together, however fervently Tatharaen had hoped they would work things out in time?

If Arthiel left the Angle, then Tatharaen would leave with her. Despite those rumbling conflicts, Tatharaen felt no impulse to leave or even much interest in travel, being no Ranger, but to stay behind without Arthiel was inconceivable. They had been a couple for so long—it was never openly acknowledged but no secret either—that to think of herself without Arthiel was like chopping herself in half. And she was nobody important here who could not be spared, just another older female relative with duties that anybody else would be able to fill. A hand for basket-making was her only minor talent, not particularly special in a community where many, if not most, would have managed to make a reasonably serviceable basket at a pinch.

Tatharaen looked at her uncompleted basket and sighed. Better to give up for the day; she was too distracted for real progress. But even as she rose from her bench, about to put things away, she heard hurrying steps in the lane—Arthiel returning, and all at a rush, too. Clearly, Arthiel was in the grip of a great deal of emotion, and Tatharaen’s heart sank. That interview must not have ended well. However, as Arthiel approached, Tatharaen realized that she did not look as furious or distressed, as Tatharaen had feared. She looked—dumb-founded.

She took Tatharaen by the hand and looked around. There was nobody close by, but clearly Arthiel thought they were still not private enough, for she opened the door and pulled Tatharaen inside the workshop.

‘What happened?’ asked Tatharaen.

What could Araglas have said to make Arthiel look like this? She seemed to be searching for words…

‘Araglas—suggested marriage,’ she finally said.

Tatharaen blinked.

‘Marriage? To you?’ she asked.

That was one way of addressing those political differences that Tatharaen would never have thought of, but there was some logic to it, she supposed—if one considered Arthiel marriageable. They were not close enough kin to forbid it. And as a newcomer, Araglas maybe did not know…

‘Does he know?’ Tatharaen asked.

‘About us? Very much so. More than I would have guessed.’

A political marriage. She might be expected to sacrifice their relationship for the common good… Tatharaen straightened her spine.

‘What did you answer?’

‘Of course, I said no. I said it was a hare-brained idea. How was this supposed to work when we are constantly arguing over the council table? And I also said I considered our bond, yours and mine, sacred and would never break it.’

Ah. So, they would be leaving after all, then?

‘He said—he claimed he enjoys arguing with me and that he thinks the best for the Dunedain would be if we both contributed from our different background—my practical experience, his ideas and his connections. He also said he admires us and our bond.’

Tatharaen reached out to steady herself against the wall, feeling the wood rough under her palm.

‘I do not understand,’ she said. ‘What…?’

‘I did not either. I could not at all make out where he was heading and wondered whether that was some Elvish notion I had never heard of or whether he had simply gone stark raving crazy. But, Tatharaen, what he asked is to include you in our marriage—or be included in our bond. Not publicly and officially, of course. But that. I could not believe my ears.’

Tatharaen tried to imagine Araglas saying this. She had thought he had not much noticed her at all, but evidently she had been mistaken.

‘How would… How would that even work?’

He was much more good-looking than either of them, she thought almost irrelevantly. Those good looks had contributed to the aggravation of the girls when he showed not much interest.

‘I have no idea, but he really does mean it.’

‘I suppose,’ Tatharaen murmured, a little numbly, ‘it makes some kind of sense. Like the rim of a basket. Three strands woven together, reinforcement, for strength…’

She wondered whether she was rambling inanities.

Arthiel seized her firmly by the shoulder.

‘My love, I do not know whether this can work, but I know one thing. If we agree, it must not be with any idea of your fading into the background or retiring to the side-lines. The only way I have been able to get on with Araglas as much as I have--that was because you were there to keep me balanced, to stop me from losing my head and my temper entirely. I would need you with me, every step of the way. And Araglas is aware of that; he has observed it.’

Tatharaen was still trying to get her head around how visible she had been, apparently. She was not used to being seen so closely, except by Arthiel.

‘I will need time to think about this,’ she said.

Maybe if she could even begin to imagine it, it would somehow become possible.

‘And..is there an Elven sweetheart, anyway?’ she asked, as an afterthought.

Tatharaen had scarcely seen any Elves in her life except Elladan and Elrohir, but she had a feeling that if there was a stunningly beautiful immortal Elvenwoman in this equation as well, it would surely make this unusual challenge utterly impossible.

Arthiel laughed.

‘It took you longer than me to ask that! I blurted out the question quite tactlessly. He says there is not. There are a couple of women that he loves like sisters, he says, but nobody he would want to marry, even if he could.’

She hugged Tatharaen.

‘Take as long to think about it as you need, love. Somehow, now I have talked to you about it, I can almost believe it would work—as long as we do it together!’

*

Apart from his early succession, the records say that Araglas’s chieftainship was unremarkable, with nothing to report. But they would, wouldn’t they?

Yet it is said that the element -glas in his name meant ‘joy’.

Chapter End Notes

Arthiel means "noble daughter" and is from the name list on Real Elvish Net.

Tatharaen means "entangled willows" and is from Chestnut's Name List, credited with thanks.

I used information on Araglas collected on Tolkien Gateway. (It was unexpectedly difficult to make my plot idea canon-compliant; we don't have many details about the Chieftains of Arnor, but we do have more canonical and semi-canonical dates than I had remembered.)

The title is taken from Erendis's words to Ancalime in the Tale of Aldarion and Erendis  and is a Tolkien Femslash February prompt.

Some evidence from Saelind's Dunedain stories will be obvious, but these are entirely different characters.

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