Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion or any related writings
Pairings: none emphasized
Characters: Aredhel, Lalwendë, Anairë sort of (mentions Fingolfin, Findis, Nerdanel, Fëanor, the Fëanorions, Eärwen, Finwë, Manwë, Varda and Eru)
Warning: canon-compliant AU, feminism, patriarchal society, Noldorin and Vanyarin culture bashing (a little), teenage rebellion, spontaneous illegitimate children (neither are OCs)
Song: Radioactive
Words: 1,213
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rhythm (noun): an ordered recurrent alternation of strong and weak elements in the flow of sound and silence in speech; movement, fluctuation, or variation marked by the regular recurrence or natural flow of related elements
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/rhythm
Out of all the feminine influences in her life, Írissë loved her Aunt Lalwendë the best. The woman was like a breath of fresh air after a long imprisonment in a dank, gilded cell.
Not to say, of course, that she resented her other aunts. Aunt Nerdanel was fiery and no-nonsense, a true match for her hot-blooded mate, but also too busy wrangling her seven equally hot-blooded children to spend time with her own niece. Aunt Findis had good intentions at heart, but was too haughty, too concerned with rules and etiquette and propriety--things about which Írissë could care less, which made her want to cut her hair and pretend she had been born a boy. And Aunt Eärwen was nice and sweet, but the last thing the only granddaughter of Finwë wanted to spend her afternoons learning was the undeniably useless and mind-numbing art of ribbon embroidery.
But Lalwendë was different.
She had the same beauty that ran through their line--a dark, rich beauty that turned heads wherever she went, that captured breaths and hearts with the ease of a candle enrapturing a moth--and the same natural poise and charisma--she was, after all, the daughter of the High King, and clearly knew her place in the world. She was Princess Lalwendë, and neither Manwë nor Varda nor Ilúvatar himself could stand in her path if her anger chose to rain down its malice and scorn upon your head.
But there was something else there beneath the outer layer of cheery-blossom sweetness and classic Noldorin fury, something that put her above and beyond a simple-minded and pretty maiden. Some deep glimmer in her eyes, a cutting edge at the corner of her smiles.
The first thing Írissë learned about her aunt was that Lalwendë took no shit from anyone. Whether or not they possessed male anatomy. Seeing Nolofinwë himself laid to waste at his own societal game of pride and intellect was heavenly, for her aunt's sharpened spear of a tongue ripped him apart from throat to groin and roasted him alive on a spit over a metaphorical campfire. And the rest of them laid back and roasted their marshmallows, enjoying the show.
And Aunt Lalwendë was unmarried--an anomaly of anti-marital bliss rising as a glowing flag into the sky. She went where she wanted and did what she pleased, and no husband hung around peering over her shoulder, enquiring about knitting and asking demeaning questions about "Why would a woman need to read a book on weaponry?" or "Why would a woman want to learn how to ride a horse and shoot a bow?"
(By the Valar, Írissë was terrified by the thought of a pig-headed, sexist noble for a husband!)
But, best of all, she would take Írissë under her wing for months at a time, just the two of them living alone on the outskirts of the big city in a quaint little cottage. Then, Lalwendë did not even both to don a full outfit, instead wearing a pair of britches and laced up boots, mismatched with a thin blouse and corset. Her hair would be braided simply down her back without the frilly feathers and gems favored by the ladies of the high court, without necklaces of precious metals and layer upon layer of thick rouge to redden her pale cheeks.
And she would dress her niece just the same. Would give her a pair of black britches to wear beneath whatever amount of white clothing she wanted. No "but pink would suit you much better, foolish niece" or "that color washes out your complexion, my dear" like the comments Írissë received oft enough from her mother.
They would go out into the forest and ride. With one foot on each side of the horse. Aunt Lalwendë was the first to teach Írissë to shoot with a longbow whilst galloping at full speed through the trees and the first to show her how to skin and gut a deer so that she could go on long hunts with her half-cousins without seeming a foolish, inexperienced girl.
But she also taught Írissë to dance in the twilight and enjoy the music of silence and nature. To take off her shoes and walk with bare feet in the grass and mud and relish the squish between her toes. To forget about staining her clothes as they splashed in the creek or tangling her hair as they ran like wild creatures through the thicket.
Aunt Lalwendë had a rhythm as untamable as Yavanna's tangled earth, a beat that could not falter and could not be changed, so thoroughly embedded was it down to the very roots of her being.
"Never let a man tell you who you should be, niece," she advised. Instead of asking when Írissë was planning to finally settle down like a proper young woman. Because Aunt Lalwendë--with two grown sons--had never married or settled herself with a man. Was the family pariah yet held her head high in court and sneered down her nose at those frilly peacocks who thought themselves of superior value and virtue.
"Never let reputation consume your identity," she added afterwards. Rather than telling her not to do this or not to do that because--Valar forbid!--someone might think her strange or compromised. Not like her mother, who constantly worried about what other's might say or think about her strange, rebellious daughter, who acted more like a common farmer's son than a princess. Aunt Lalwendë merely shook her head and laughed as rolling bells.
After all, Lalwendë was layered in scandal. But somehow still respected. Somehow not silenced.
"And never, ever be anyone but you. Follow your own path."
If there was one thing that Írissë did not think she could ever forget, it was those words from the lips of her idol, the woman in whose footsteps she wished to follow yet at the same time from whose path she turned away to follow her own narrow way in the treacherous darkness.
To find her own rhythm. To have her own beat. Steady as the breaths of the earth shifting beneath their feet, as unceasing as waves eternally crashing against the shore. As unchanging as the mountains towering over their heads, steady and founded with roots traveling deep into crags and cracks of the land, impervious to the wear of rainstorms breaking the glass dome of the heavens.
Those women at court could say whatever they pleased, but Írissë would not bend. Her mother could complain and comment and criticize all she pleased, but Írissë would not break.
Because, one day, she would be that woman her nieces looked up to, their breath of fresh air and freedom in a world dominated by the posturing and posing of conceited men and brainwashed women. One day, she would be the Aunt Lalwendë.
And one day, she would have her own rhythm by which to dance in the twilight. Would have her own freedom and life. Would have her own advice to share.
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This is the first time I've ever so much as poked Lalwendë as a character. I mean, I've known she exists for a very long time, but I've never had much interest in her as a character because she and Findis were even more neglected than usual (Tolkien, why couldn't you create a couple more kickass female characters?), but then I found this picture--Spring wind by ~Righon on dA--and things just spiraled from there. I mean, look at her. Clearly she's not the normal "let's play dress-up and have tea and pretend to be brainless dullards" type. Granted, I imagine the women aren't brainless, they're just subtle, but you know what I mean.
In any case, this happened. And though I would like to completely blame the picture, I blame today's song as well. It isn't the original version of the song Radioactive, but rather a cover done by Lindsey Stirling and Pentatonix, both rather new "groups" that can be easily found on YouTube and tend towards reworking covers of popular songs (but also creating some of their own, give them credit). This song normally would not be my type at all, but for some reason it really pleased me. Song, video, interpretation and style.
And it has the character for this piece somewhere in there. Rebellious and self-awareness. No apocalypse in this story, though LOL.
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