Falcon’s Freedom by Zdenka  

I. Estolad

It was in the grey hours between darkness and dawn that Haleth first saw Aredhel of the Noldor. She had dreamed last night, a dream that felt like an omen. According to custom, she went outside while it was still dark so that the first thing she saw at dawn could help explain it. She stood leaning on her spear, while the birds gradually awoke in the wood.

Haleth had dreamed of a white falcon, its wing-feathers tipped with silver, that flew into a dark wood and became tangled there. She had not been sure what it meant, but when she saw the Elf-lady ride out of the mist, clad in white and silver like a vision, she no longer had any doubt. Her horse was white also; it moved gracefully as if dancing. The Elf looked towards her, her dark eyes shining from within. Haleth tightened her grip on her spear and tried not to let her feelings show on her face. She was too old, surely, to be swooning over an Elf-maid’s beauty like a giddy girl.

The Elf hailed her and rode closer. Haleth stood motionless, awaiting her approach.

“What is your name? Do your people live here?” the Elf asked carelessly in her own tongue. She did not dismount, and her face was proud. Haleth could not help finding her beautiful, all the same.

“It is for the stranger to speak first,” Haleth replied in the same language.

The Elf looked as if she were considering being offended, but then she laughed. “My name is Aredhel,” she said. “And you? I was not aware that anyone dwelt here.”

“I am Haleth Haldad’s daughter of the Haladin. My people live here.” Though perhaps not for much longer; Haleth had been feeling a growing restlessness, like a prickling at the back of her neck.

“And do you serve the Sons of Fëanor, Haleth Haldad’s daughter?”

Her own name sounded strange on the Elf’s lips, and full of enchantment. Haleth frowned. “We do not serve anyone,” she said with emphasis. “We live by our own laws.” After a moment she added, “Why do you name the sons of Fëanor? This land is not theirs.”

“Is this not Himlad?”

“Not when you crossed the river. This land is Estolad, they say.”

The Elf followed her gaze northward, toward the river and the darkness of Nan Elmoth. “Perhaps you are right,” she said carelessly. “I have never taken much notice of what land I ride in, so long as there is room for my horse to run freely.” She lifted her horse’s reins as if to go.

“Wait,” Haleth said suddenly. There was no reason for her to be concerned over this Elf, who was proud and arrogant as they all were, who had spoken familiarly of the sons of Fëanor—the Elves who Haleth most wished to avoid. But she was beautiful and free like a falcon in flight, and Haleth could not help recalling her dream.

The Elf turned back and tilted her head questioningly. “What is it?”

“Take care where you ride.”

The Elf frowned. “Are you threatening me?” She seemed indignant and a little amused.

“It is a warning,” Haleth said. “I have heard the wood over there is full of dark enchantment, and whoever enters it is not sure to leave again. It is better to avoid it.”

The Elf looked thoughtful. “I see,” she said. “Then I thank you for the warning.”

For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Haleth thought the Elf would surely ride away, vanishing in the light of dawn like a dream. She had no wish to become involved with Elves, she reminded herself. Then the Elf smiled suddenly. “If your people live here, then perhaps there is someplace I can find breakfast? I had a whim to go riding under the stars, but now I am far from my cousins’ house.”

“Come with me,” Haleth found herself saying. The Elf dismounted at last and walked along beside Haleth, leading her horse.

Haleth brought Aredhel to her house and made a simple breakfast, enough for both of them: porridge with dried fruit and nuts, and fresh bread with butter and honey. She could not help stealing glances at her guest over the wooden table. Once or twice, she caught Aredhel looking at her also.

“Are you an enemy to the sons of Fëanor?” Aredhel demanded while spreading honey on her bread, as if she had any right to interrogate Haleth over her own table.

“We are not their enemies,” Haleth said slowly. She thought of Caranthir who had saved them, Caranthir who wished to bind her people with Elvish oaths. She looked back across the table, meeting Aredhel’s eyes. “We do not belong to anyone,” Haleth said again. “We go or stay freely, at our own will.”

Aredhel laughed suddenly. “Perhaps I can understand that,” she said.

At the end of the meal, Aredhel rose. To Haleth’s surprise, she drew an arrow from her quiver and laid it on the table. “I will not insult you by offering payment,” she said, “but Elf-made arrows fly straight and true.” Her look turned mischievous. “Especially when they are made by Aredhel of the Noldor.” She flashed a quick smile. “Perhaps we will meet again.”

Haleth watched her ride away, and returned to her house in time to receive the leader of her spearwomen for her daily report.

“What is that?” Aelgar asked curiously, looking at the arrow lying on the table. “That’s not one of our arrows.”

Haleth shook her head. “Nothing to worry about,” she said.

Later, she ran her fingers over the smooth wood of the arrow before putting it away in her quiver. It did seem well-made. But there was no reason to think she would see Aredhel again.

That night, Haleth dreamed of her brother. Not anguished and blood-stained as she had last seen him, but young and laughing. He drew an arrow from his quiver and let it fly off towards the west.

To her surprise, Aredhel did return, and more than once. She rode across the ford of the River Celon to appear in the Haladin’s settlement seemingly as the whim took her. Haleth took her hunting, finding that Aredhel had a keen eye and that her arrows seldom failed to strike their mark. She could not deny that it pleased her to have Aredhel’s company, to see her share their food without complaint, to round a corner and find her sprawled in front of the communal fire in heated conversation with Aelgar over techniques for forging spear-points.

Yet Haleth remained guarded. She could not forget that Aredhel was one of the Noldor, that so many of the other folk who had crossed the mountains now rode back and forth from the Elves’ stone castles, obeying the commands of their Noldor lords. And Haleth could not forget her own unease at the way the lands around them were becoming more and more thickly settled, how more and more of their neighbors were bound by solemn oaths to fight for one or another of the Elf-princes at need.

She called an assembly of the Haladin. She let all those speak who wished to, according to the custom of their people, but she would brook no dispute. “These lands are not good for us,” she said firmly. “We are going west.” In the end, most of them went with her.

Haleth did not expect Aredhel to go with them too, through Nan Dungortheb. “I have been there before,” Aredhel insisted fiercely. “It will help to have someone who knows the dangers of that place. And you will need every sword and bow. Besides,” she added more lightly, “My father and my eldest brother live across the Ered Wethrin! Perhaps it is time to visit them again.”

There was little time to sleep, in Nan Dungortheb. Haleth kept watch herself, as often as she could; when she snatched a brief rest, it was in the center of a circle of her spearwomen.

“Where shall I sleep?” Aredhel inquired. She was still, absurdly, in her white and silver—somewhat tattered now. But she had proved her worth more than once.

“Sleep where you like,” Haleth said distractedly.

Aredhel stepped lightly through the circle of spears and sat down, spreading her own blanket beside Haleth’s. Her spearwomen bristled, and Aelgar gripped her weapon with a dark look. Haleth gestured them to peace. She trusted Aredhel, she thought slowly, though she was not entirely sure when it had happened. Lying back, she glanced towards Aredhel and saw her strange brilliant eyes glittering in the dark.

She closed her own eyes and drifted into sleep with Aredhel’s warmth at her back. She was surprised to realize that she slept the better for it. There was no true safety on that journey, no true privacy. But perhaps if—when—they came to the other side, Haleth thought. Perhaps.

II. Brethil

Aredhel did not take part in the negotiations with Thingol of Doriath. “He hates my family,” she said cheerfully. “If I show up, he’ll say no out of spite. Better to leave things to cousin Finrod.” But Haleth caught her having a fiercely whispered conversation with ‘cousin Finrod’—or rather, Aredhel was speaking to him with emphatic gestures, while Finrod nodded agreeably.

Haleth could not keep her lips from twitching. Finrod gave her a quick glance over Aredhel’s shoulder, a glint of humor in his own eyes. Perhaps he would not be so bad.

“Don’t worry,” Aredhel said before riding off again, supposedly to seek out her oldest brother. “Finrod will do his best for you. He had better!”

Several months later Aredhel returned, and Haleth was no longer surprised. She brought Aredhel into her newly-raised house, and though Aredhel had never been inside before, it seemed right to have her there.

Aredhel propped up her feet comfortably and regaled Haleth with tales of her visit with her brother. Haleth only half-listened, letting Aredhel’s voice wash over her, watching the quick graceful movements of Aredhel’s hands until her story wound to its conclusion.

“—until I became tired of it. And so I came here.”

“You don’t wish to stay with your father?”

“It’s too far,” Aredhel said lightly. “I couldn’t reach there tonight.”

Haleth gave her a drily amused look. “I suppose you will have to stay with us, then.”

“There is time enough to visit my father. Perhaps in a few more days.” Aredhel’s face suddenly grew serious, and she looked at Haleth with a determined expression. “My father,” she said deliberately, “who is High King of the Noldor.”

“I see.”

Aredhel burst out laughing. “I haven’t seen such an unimpressed expression towards the High King in at least a century. Tell me, may I stay?”

It would have mattered, once. But Aredhel had fought at her side through Nan Dungortheb, helped carry the weak and injured of Haleth’s people through that dark valley, slept each night curled up at her back.

“Sleep where you like,” Haleth said finally, looking at Aredhel’s strangely bright eyes.

“And if I wish to sleep here?”

Haleth did not answer; she only closed the small distance between them and caught hold of Aredhel’s shoulders. Aredhel bent down towards her, and finally Haleth tasted the sweetness of her mouth, twined her fingers in Aredhel’s dark hair.

“Yes,” Haleth said, when they eventually pulled apart. “That will do very well.”

That sweetness was hers to taste every day, and every night she lay with Aredhel’s warmth beside her. They hunted side by side, and no beast could escape them if they wished to catch it.

When at last Aredhel grew restless and wished to depart, Haleth walked with her to the edge of Brethil’s woods. Remembering how the wicked thorns of Nan Dungortheb had torn Aredhel’s white sleeves, Haleth gave her a pair of leather bracers which she had made, wishing her safe journey. Aredhel raised a hand in farewell and galloped off like the wind, a flash of white and silver passing through the trees.

They made no pledges and no promises, but Haleth knew with inner certainty that Aredhel would return. Haleth would not spend her time pining, nor would Aredhel spend her time in longing; there were her people to take care of, and Aredhel had all the wide lands of Beleriand to explore. But whether it be after months or years, Aredhel would come back to meet her in Brethil; inevitable as the slow turning of the seasons, swift and certain as a falcon swooping back to her hand.

Chapter End Notes

Partly inspired by Heather Dale's song Hunter, which has always felt like an Aredhel/Haleth song to me.

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