The story so far
Did a quick-ish pass over what I had written so far, made some small changes, and decided on chapter divisions. Sticking Chapters One and Two here now in preparation for in-progress Chapter Three...
CHAPTER ONE
It was only in the evening, as they rested after the hunt, that Beleg noticed Turin's usually withdrawn mood. For all his taciturn, solitary ways, the boy had always enjoyed lounging by the campfire and discussing the day's adventures; now he sat silent, avoiding Beleg's eye, and tossed wood into the flames with unnecessary force.
Beleg decided to track the problem to its source.
"Turin, look at me."
Turin looked up. Reflected light made his odd human eyes look almost like Elu's, only without Elu's wisdom, of course. Turin was very young. "Yes?"
"Is something the matter?"
"No." Turin snapped a branch in half. A surprisingly thick branch: the force this must have required made Beleg think of Mablung's attempts to build his strength, back when they were competing to see who would reach adulthood faster. Of course, Turin's body was now reaching an adult man's capabilities; it seemed absurd, given his age, but then time worked differently for mortals.
"Why not tell me about it? Are we not friends?"
"Yes, but you are an Elf. You would not understand."
"Have you tried talking to your men, then?"
"Yes."
"What did they-- Were they helpful?"
"No." Turin broke another branch before adding, "They are too old."
The two men who had arrived with Turin were, indeed, afflicted with many fascinating signs of age, such as crumpled skin and an alarming lack of teeth. Human teeth were odd things. Turin's had fallen out at one point and replaced themselves. Perhaps he was due for another such tooth-molting? It looked like a painful process.
"Is it your teeth?" Beleg asked.
"My what? No, of course not." Turin drew up his legs and buried his face in his knees. "I knew you would not understand."
"I might," said Beleg, though skeptical himself. "Try me, Turin."
"Very well," Turin mumbled. "I am troubled because... because my body often feels beyond my control."
This sounded very possible. Lately, Turin had been tripping and dropping things more frequently than usual. "Well, you have been growing quite rapidly. It is only to be expected that you might be a bit ungainly, until you get used to the new length of your limbs. Anyway, this happens to us Elves, too. I recall that when Mablung and I--"
"I am not ungainly, and anyway that has nothing to do with it. Oh, I knew this was hopeless."
"No, it is my fault: I keep jumping to conclusions. But please, do try to explain. And if I do fail to grasp your meaning, if what troubles you truly is beyond the reach of an Elven mind, then you can take it to Melian, who is a Maia--and your adoptive mother, besides."
"No!" Turin looked up, eyes flashing with flame and panic. "I couldn't! Not to her!"
That sounded as if he suspected that Melian would understand; and that he was ashamed of whatever the problem was. "Then tell me more."
Turin sat back a bit, so that his face was further from the fire, slightly veiled in shadow. "I feel desires of the flesh," he said savagely. "They invade my dreams at night, and during the day I find myself... Well, I regret that it is winter, and everyone is wearing so much clothing. So I imagine people with their clothes off all the time, until I am unable to concentrate on anything else. My men tell me to be patient, that this will pass when I am older, but I can barely sleep or follow conversation and I think I am going mad. There. Can you understand that?" He glared at Beleg.
"Yes, I can. We Elves feel lust too, you know."
"Right. For your one true love. My men explained it all to me, you know."
"Well," said Beleg slowly, "I think you should take my word over theirs, seeing as I am an Elf, and they are not. And I tell you that I have felt lust, even though I do not have a true love." His own words filled him with a strange nervousness, as if he were lying, though of course his statements were true enough.
Turin scrutinized him, as if he had detected the flicker of doubt. "Aren't you in love with Luthien, then?"
"Sorry?"
"People say that you do everything for hopeless love of Luthien. Mablung, too, and Daeron."
"Well, Daeron does, obviously, but I do not. As for Mablung... No, I do not think he loves her, either. He would have mentioned, it surely. Because he... and I... Well, she is very beautiful, of course, and yes, desirable, and the two of used to discuss this, back when we were younger. I do admit that what you have described sounds much worse than what either of us experienced, but then you Men feel other things more, too, such as pain: this must be the same sort of thing. At any rate, I do understand the general principle."
"So, what you are saying is that you used to feel lust, before you got so old. Just like my men." Turin scowled. "I suppose you think I should be patient, too."
"Well, patience might help, of course, but I still remember that it was all rather... distracting. Too distracting to be pushed away by an effort of will." It still was, sometimes, especially when a starlit moonless night reminded Beleg of those earlier days, but he did not think Turin needed to hear that.
"So how did you cope? Men my age are allowed to chase after girls, but you Elves do not seem to do much of that."
"We do, in our own way. Why do you think most people get married so early?"
"But I cannot do that! Not here. Anyway, what about those who get married late, or not at all--like you?"
"Ah. Well, we talk to our peers, and..." It felt strange to be explaining something Beleg had always found so self-evident. But then, how could Turin have learned of these things? Not by watching his slightly older playmates, and not from Elu: Beleg suspected his King knew even less about human development than he himself did. "Some young men do more than talk. They... explore these feelings with companions of their own age, who feel likewise. There is no shame in this: it strengthens friendships, turns them into permanent connections that last long after the heat of youth has died out." Beleg smiled to himself.
"I have no companions of my own age." Turin's eyes held a challenge. "I spend most of my time with my elders, such as you."
"There are ways to change that. Elves your own age are children, of course, but perhaps you could befriend a few of those beginner hunters who often go on long trips together. They should welcome someone of your skill." And your beauty, Beleg added to himself. Man or not, Turin was as fair as any.
Turin frowned, thoughtful. "Saeros asked me to go hunting with him."
"Well, then. You should go."
"Perhaps I will."
Turin picked up his broken branches, and tossed them into the heart of the flames, without much force, but with perfect aim; and Beleg felt that strange dishonest unease once more. He looked away from Turin and up into the sky, into the bright star-cluster of the Archer's Eye, and remembered that these matters were not quite as simple as he had implied.
***
The windows of the hunting lodge, glowing softly against the darkness of the forest, guided Mablung through the last few minutes of his solitary patrol. The windows' dim light suggested that the hunters were all asleep: that the lamps had been put out, leaving only the hearth. Sure enough, when Mablung reached the door, he heard no voices within.
The only voice came from up above. "Welcome back," said Beleg from the roof. On this moonless night, he was all but invisible to the eye. "Any news?"
Mablung hesitated only a moment before leaning his axe against the woodpile and clambering up to join him. "Nothing unexpected. Saw some stags fighting by the forest's edge, but no sign of foul creatures. How was your hunt?"
"It went well enough."
Mablung stretched out comfortably at Beleg's right. "Then why are you out here watching the constellations, instead of resting inside?"
"I am counting stars. Did you know that Turin says he can see only two in the Archer's Eye?"
"No, but I am not surprised. Remember, Beren said most mortals could see only one." Mablung looked up at the sky. On a dark but cloudless night like this one, he could count a respectable four. Beleg claimed to see seven, a number nobody else could verify; Mablung had thought him a braggart at first, before learning more of his open, honest heart.
"Mortals are so odd," said Beleg quietly. "So much like us, yet so unlike."
"What has Turin done now?"
"Oh, he..." Beleg shifted a little. "He claims to have awakened to desire. The way he describes it, it sounds rather intense for someone so young... at least, for someone who does not know what desire's fulfillment might feel like."
His voice sounded strange: detached and dreamlike. As usual, it fell to Mablung to be more practical. "Perhaps he does know. He is impulsive, and has spent much time walking the woods with Nellas, perhaps they--"
"Surely not!" Beleg sat up on one elbow. "No, that is quite impossible: he did not even believe our kind could experience such emotions."
Mablung met his animated gaze. "And did you correct his misconception?"
"I told him to seek out his peers. Who knows, perhaps this might help him build a new friendship? Turin needs more friends."
To Mablung's mind, Turin certainly did friends other than Beleg himself: but did he deserve them? Mablung exhaled, and decided not to voice this doubt, saying instead, "You think everyone needs more friends."
"Well, friendship is a fine thing."
"I do not dispute that. But some of us are satisfied with the friends we already have."
Beleg's response was to smile and lay a hand on Mablung's shoulder.
CHAPTER TWO
"...and then, there was a fall-off in the production of walnut oil, which caused an increase in the consumption of other oils, such as linseed, and so a general oil shortage. And of course oils are a vitally important substance, used for such diverse purposes as cooking, hair care, weapon-care..."
The brief mention of weapons was the first remotely interesting thing Saeros had said all day. Why had Turin ever agreed to this hunting trip? He supposed Saeros was attractive enough, in body, but then so was pretty much everyone else in Doriath, except Turin's own men. At any rate, no matter what Beleg had said, Saeros did not seem in any way inclined to share his passably attractive body with Turin. Instead he kept yammering on as if he were not walking through Melian's forest, but sitting at a tedious court meeting, so that Turin could not even enjoy the forest's beauty in peace.
"...and such disastrous consequences should be avoided in the future, and I of course the best way to do this would be to place some sensible person in charge of the walnut harvest. I am sure you agree: do you not?"
Surprised to be included in the monologue, and grateful that it seemed to be coming to an end, Turin nodded. "Yes. That sounds like a fine idea."
"I am glad you think so, as I am hoping to mention the matter to our King--your foster-father--very soon. I have even given some thought to suitable candidates, and it has occurred to me that I have a young cousin who would do a splendid job. She has spent several years living in a rather large walnut tree and--"
"Another fine idea!" said Turin, feeling the threat of another lengthy speech. "Truly, with ideas like that, I am not surprised that you have been named as one of the King's advisors."
"Thank you." Saeros accepted this cursory homage with a condescending smile. "And you are a Man of, um, intelligence yourself. I am most happy to have found your friendship."
This was more like it. Since the two of them were clearly not friends--acquaintances at best--'friendship' had to be a code word of some sort for the type of activities Beleg had described.
"Should we make camp soon?" Turin asked.
"Oh, is the night approaching?" Saeros glanced around the trees, as if looking for the sun.
"A few more hours yet. But I thought we could head east for a bit, until we hit that stream we crossed earlier. We would have fresh water there, and perhaps a clear spot for a fire. Anyway, judging by the tracks we have seen today, this area is free of large predators, and--"
"Yes, yes, that sounds perfect. Lead on."
Turin looked over at Saeros, surprised by this unquestioning acceptance. His usual hunting companions tended to scrutinize all his proposals, and then to explain to him, with different degrees of tact, what his Mortal senses and mind had missed. But then they were hunters, so it made sense that they would get obsessive about campgrounds, the way Saeros did about--what was it?--walnut production.
"While we walk," said Saeros, "tell me: have you any thoughts on our jewel trade with the Dwarves?"
Not just walnut production, apparently. "No."
"Good. I mean, why should you? You Men do not seem to care for fine jewels. However, you might care more if I explain how the poor decisions made by some of those responsible for it might negatively affect the sword-trade. You see, there is a long-standing agreement..."
Turin did care a little, but not enough to pay attention to all those excessive words. He would have to ask Beleg to explain the situation to him in a sentence or less. Right after he asked him how one should respond to a codeword like 'friendship', and to manage this sort of 'hunting trip' in general. Oh, why couldn't Beleg be here instead of Saeros? He was a much better companion, and far more than passably attractive, besides.
The thought was certainly deserving of further consideration. But for now, Saeros was here, and Beleg was not, so Turin chased the idea from his mind as he led the way towards camp.
***
The usual business of setting up camp took as long as usual; indeed, longer, since Saeros' idea of appropriate camping behaviour was to stand around chattering about completely insignificant matters until given something to do, and then to talk on while doing it. But at least he seemed to accept Turin's decision to arrange their sleeping-places right next to each other, saying only, "wouldn't that little heap over there make a more comfortable pillow?"
Turin looked. "You mean that anthill? Not for me, but then I suppose you Elves are more hardy, and--"
"There is no need to resort to sarcasm." Saeros sounded quite hurt. "So maybe I missed the anthill, but some of us cannot afford to play around in the woods all day."
"Play around?" It was Turin's turn to feel stung. "To protect the woods, you mean."
"Isn't that the Queen's job?"
"She protects Doriath from intruders, true, but still there is Orc-killing to be done just beyond our marches. Anyway, intruders are not the only danger: there are also predators, disease, forest fires... the hunters and marchwardens together manage the wood's resources." Turin was proud of himself for overcoming his rising annoyance, and crafting an explanation sure to appeal to his companion: throughout his speeches, Saeros had seemed very interested in resources.
"All right, I suppose the hunters do harvest some necessary resources." Saeros waved a hand in a rather dismissive manner. "But let us not forget that woods other than ours seem to 'manage' themselves well enough. No, this whole forestry business feels to me like more of an excuse to sit around under--or in--the trees. Not that I truly see the appeal, myself." He glanced around at the nearby trees with contempt, as if they were unwelcome and slovenly intruders.
What sort of an Elf was he, anyway? "Why are you here, then, if you disdain and dislike the woods so?"
"Why, to speak to you, of course." Saeros smiled faintly. "I should have thought what I said today would have made it clear, but if you require it, I can be plainer: I think a closer... acquaintance might benefit us both."
Shocked out of his anger by this blatant declaration, Turin studied Saeros closely: his smile seemed a little forced--but given the embarrassing situation, this made some sense. What was more confusing was Saeros' claim that his speeches had been in any way suggestive. Or was he referring to his lecture on oil, which had certain intimate uses?
But never mind; the details were not important. Turin tried to look as knowing as possible. "I daresay you are right."
"Of course I am. After all, these rough types you normally run around with cannot be of much use to you. Oh, I know the King is fond of his Orc-killing heroes, after a fashion, but their influence is clearly waning now that we have seen what heroism leads to. I do not mean just the recent defeats," he added quickly, "but also the King's personal situation. In particular, Luthien's departure, which, although it is tied to what some might term a victory for the heroic approach to life, has hurt our rulers deeply, to the point that they look for... Well, I think the incident might have made them more willing to adopt you. Which is a good thing, in its way, naturally."
It amazed Turin that someone could be simultaneously so boring and so offensive; he found himself stifling both a yawn and an urge to hit Saeros over the head with a bit of firewood for speaking so insultingly of his friends, of the King, of himself, and even the heroic ethos he held dear. He had to shut Saeros up: a few more words, and Turin would be incapable of deepening their acquaintance on any level.
"Never mind the politics," he said. "Now, I hope you do not mind me speaking plainly, as you have done: how do we begin?"
Saeros sent him a rather subtle glance. "What do you mean?"
"Well, since I have spent most of my time here hunting with full-grown warriors, I do not know much about these... friendship rituals of the younger Elves."
"Rituals?" Saeros' subtlety dissolved into confusion. "I know nothing of any rituals."
"Customs, then." Turin tried to recall what Beleg had said. Shared fantasies of Luthien had definitely been involved. "Are there any maidens you find particularly attractive?"
"What? I... I am too young for that sort of thing. At least, to my mind--I wish to be fully established in my career before I marry."
"Ah. Good." As a justification for groping other males out in the woods, it sounded more prosaic than Beleg's tales of strengthening the bonds of friendship, but it would do. "What do we do then, compare techniques?"
"Techniques?"
"Yes, personal techniques." Turin laid his hand on Saeros' shoulder and looked into his eyes with what he hoped was the right sort of intensity.
"Are you talking about swordplay? Because I do not--"
Turin moved his hand to Saeros' hip.
"Ah Eru!" Saeros leapt backwards, stumbled on a root, and recovered a few paces away, both hands held out in front of his body. "No, no, stay away!" His panicked tone made it clear he was not merely suggesting they wait until after dinner.
"What is the problem?" Turin asked. "Did you want to talk more, beforehand? Because I must confess, talking is not really my--"
"Talk... beforehand? No! You cannot really believe I would ever... Ah, Eru." Saeros put one hand to his lips, as if nauseated.
"What is your problem?" Turin's voice, which had been holding steadily low for months now, squeaked on the final word. "First you make all those suggestive comments, about oil and a closer acquaintance, and now you act like I'm offering you rotten meat!"
"I was speaking of politics, idiot. And how should I act when you insult me so, you... you dumb, barbaric, mortal beast? I am one of the Firstborn--"
"You are a pathetic excuse for an Elf who cannot tell his ass from an anthill. I have been patient as a rock, listening to your endless blathering, simply because..." Recalling his reasons, and viewing Saeros' now hateful form, Turin felt rather sickened himself. "Out of courtesy, which you so clearly lack. I have been trying to adapt to your customs, as Beleg advised me--"
"Ah, Beleg, of course. Beleg Why-Not-Go-Hunting-With-Beren. I should have known he'd been the one to suggest this perversion, with his sick, Mortal-loving mind. Well, most of us are not so open to bestiality!"
Turin could think of only one response: he punched Saeros in the face, and watched him stumble back to sit on the ground, holding his bleeding nose as he gazed up with a mixture of fear and disgust.
"The King will hear of this," he said at last.
"Good," said Turin. "Of course, when he asks me why I struck you, I will have to tell him what you said about Elves who dally with Men. I suspect he might consider this a topic of personal interest."
Saeros got the threat at once: his eyes darkened.
"And now," Turin continued, "I think I will leave you to get in touch with your tree-loving Elven roots."
He gathered his gear, keeping an eye on his newfound enemy, and slipped off into the forest. Its blissful silence was balm for his hurt pride, and even his disappointment. The northern lodge was only a day away; surely Beleg would be there still, and interested in hearing how his advice had turned out?
CHAPTER ONE
It was only in the evening, as they rested after the hunt, that Beleg noticed Turin's usually withdrawn mood. For all his taciturn, solitary ways, the boy had always enjoyed lounging by the campfire and discussing the day's adventures; now he sat silent, avoiding Beleg's eye, and tossed wood into the flames with unnecessary force.
Beleg decided to track the problem to its source.
"Turin, look at me."
Turin looked up. Reflected light made his odd human eyes look almost like Elu's, only without Elu's wisdom, of course. Turin was very young. "Yes?"
"Is something the matter?"
"No." Turin snapped a branch in half. A surprisingly thick branch: the force this must have required made Beleg think of Mablung's attempts to build his strength, back when they were competing to see who would reach adulthood faster. Of course, Turin's body was now reaching an adult man's capabilities; it seemed absurd, given his age, but then time worked differently for mortals.
"Why not tell me about it? Are we not friends?"
"Yes, but you are an Elf. You would not understand."
"Have you tried talking to your men, then?"
"Yes."
"What did they-- Were they helpful?"
"No." Turin broke another branch before adding, "They are too old."
The two men who had arrived with Turin were, indeed, afflicted with many fascinating signs of age, such as crumpled skin and an alarming lack of teeth. Human teeth were odd things. Turin's had fallen out at one point and replaced themselves. Perhaps he was due for another such tooth-molting? It looked like a painful process.
"Is it your teeth?" Beleg asked.
"My what? No, of course not." Turin drew up his legs and buried his face in his knees. "I knew you would not understand."
"I might," said Beleg, though skeptical himself. "Try me, Turin."
"Very well," Turin mumbled. "I am troubled because... because my body often feels beyond my control."
This sounded very possible. Lately, Turin had been tripping and dropping things more frequently than usual. "Well, you have been growing quite rapidly. It is only to be expected that you might be a bit ungainly, until you get used to the new length of your limbs. Anyway, this happens to us Elves, too. I recall that when Mablung and I--"
"I am not ungainly, and anyway that has nothing to do with it. Oh, I knew this was hopeless."
"No, it is my fault: I keep jumping to conclusions. But please, do try to explain. And if I do fail to grasp your meaning, if what troubles you truly is beyond the reach of an Elven mind, then you can take it to Melian, who is a Maia--and your adoptive mother, besides."
"No!" Turin looked up, eyes flashing with flame and panic. "I couldn't! Not to her!"
That sounded as if he suspected that Melian would understand; and that he was ashamed of whatever the problem was. "Then tell me more."
Turin sat back a bit, so that his face was further from the fire, slightly veiled in shadow. "I feel desires of the flesh," he said savagely. "They invade my dreams at night, and during the day I find myself... Well, I regret that it is winter, and everyone is wearing so much clothing. So I imagine people with their clothes off all the time, until I am unable to concentrate on anything else. My men tell me to be patient, that this will pass when I am older, but I can barely sleep or follow conversation and I think I am going mad. There. Can you understand that?" He glared at Beleg.
"Yes, I can. We Elves feel lust too, you know."
"Right. For your one true love. My men explained it all to me, you know."
"Well," said Beleg slowly, "I think you should take my word over theirs, seeing as I am an Elf, and they are not. And I tell you that I have felt lust, even though I do not have a true love." His own words filled him with a strange nervousness, as if he were lying, though of course his statements were true enough.
Turin scrutinized him, as if he had detected the flicker of doubt. "Aren't you in love with Luthien, then?"
"Sorry?"
"People say that you do everything for hopeless love of Luthien. Mablung, too, and Daeron."
"Well, Daeron does, obviously, but I do not. As for Mablung... No, I do not think he loves her, either. He would have mentioned, it surely. Because he... and I... Well, she is very beautiful, of course, and yes, desirable, and the two of used to discuss this, back when we were younger. I do admit that what you have described sounds much worse than what either of us experienced, but then you Men feel other things more, too, such as pain: this must be the same sort of thing. At any rate, I do understand the general principle."
"So, what you are saying is that you used to feel lust, before you got so old. Just like my men." Turin scowled. "I suppose you think I should be patient, too."
"Well, patience might help, of course, but I still remember that it was all rather... distracting. Too distracting to be pushed away by an effort of will." It still was, sometimes, especially when a starlit moonless night reminded Beleg of those earlier days, but he did not think Turin needed to hear that.
"So how did you cope? Men my age are allowed to chase after girls, but you Elves do not seem to do much of that."
"We do, in our own way. Why do you think most people get married so early?"
"But I cannot do that! Not here. Anyway, what about those who get married late, or not at all--like you?"
"Ah. Well, we talk to our peers, and..." It felt strange to be explaining something Beleg had always found so self-evident. But then, how could Turin have learned of these things? Not by watching his slightly older playmates, and not from Elu: Beleg suspected his King knew even less about human development than he himself did. "Some young men do more than talk. They... explore these feelings with companions of their own age, who feel likewise. There is no shame in this: it strengthens friendships, turns them into permanent connections that last long after the heat of youth has died out." Beleg smiled to himself.
"I have no companions of my own age." Turin's eyes held a challenge. "I spend most of my time with my elders, such as you."
"There are ways to change that. Elves your own age are children, of course, but perhaps you could befriend a few of those beginner hunters who often go on long trips together. They should welcome someone of your skill." And your beauty, Beleg added to himself. Man or not, Turin was as fair as any.
Turin frowned, thoughtful. "Saeros asked me to go hunting with him."
"Well, then. You should go."
"Perhaps I will."
Turin picked up his broken branches, and tossed them into the heart of the flames, without much force, but with perfect aim; and Beleg felt that strange dishonest unease once more. He looked away from Turin and up into the sky, into the bright star-cluster of the Archer's Eye, and remembered that these matters were not quite as simple as he had implied.
***
The windows of the hunting lodge, glowing softly against the darkness of the forest, guided Mablung through the last few minutes of his solitary patrol. The windows' dim light suggested that the hunters were all asleep: that the lamps had been put out, leaving only the hearth. Sure enough, when Mablung reached the door, he heard no voices within.
The only voice came from up above. "Welcome back," said Beleg from the roof. On this moonless night, he was all but invisible to the eye. "Any news?"
Mablung hesitated only a moment before leaning his axe against the woodpile and clambering up to join him. "Nothing unexpected. Saw some stags fighting by the forest's edge, but no sign of foul creatures. How was your hunt?"
"It went well enough."
Mablung stretched out comfortably at Beleg's right. "Then why are you out here watching the constellations, instead of resting inside?"
"I am counting stars. Did you know that Turin says he can see only two in the Archer's Eye?"
"No, but I am not surprised. Remember, Beren said most mortals could see only one." Mablung looked up at the sky. On a dark but cloudless night like this one, he could count a respectable four. Beleg claimed to see seven, a number nobody else could verify; Mablung had thought him a braggart at first, before learning more of his open, honest heart.
"Mortals are so odd," said Beleg quietly. "So much like us, yet so unlike."
"What has Turin done now?"
"Oh, he..." Beleg shifted a little. "He claims to have awakened to desire. The way he describes it, it sounds rather intense for someone so young... at least, for someone who does not know what desire's fulfillment might feel like."
His voice sounded strange: detached and dreamlike. As usual, it fell to Mablung to be more practical. "Perhaps he does know. He is impulsive, and has spent much time walking the woods with Nellas, perhaps they--"
"Surely not!" Beleg sat up on one elbow. "No, that is quite impossible: he did not even believe our kind could experience such emotions."
Mablung met his animated gaze. "And did you correct his misconception?"
"I told him to seek out his peers. Who knows, perhaps this might help him build a new friendship? Turin needs more friends."
To Mablung's mind, Turin certainly did friends other than Beleg himself: but did he deserve them? Mablung exhaled, and decided not to voice this doubt, saying instead, "You think everyone needs more friends."
"Well, friendship is a fine thing."
"I do not dispute that. But some of us are satisfied with the friends we already have."
Beleg's response was to smile and lay a hand on Mablung's shoulder.
CHAPTER TWO
"...and then, there was a fall-off in the production of walnut oil, which caused an increase in the consumption of other oils, such as linseed, and so a general oil shortage. And of course oils are a vitally important substance, used for such diverse purposes as cooking, hair care, weapon-care..."
The brief mention of weapons was the first remotely interesting thing Saeros had said all day. Why had Turin ever agreed to this hunting trip? He supposed Saeros was attractive enough, in body, but then so was pretty much everyone else in Doriath, except Turin's own men. At any rate, no matter what Beleg had said, Saeros did not seem in any way inclined to share his passably attractive body with Turin. Instead he kept yammering on as if he were not walking through Melian's forest, but sitting at a tedious court meeting, so that Turin could not even enjoy the forest's beauty in peace.
"...and such disastrous consequences should be avoided in the future, and I of course the best way to do this would be to place some sensible person in charge of the walnut harvest. I am sure you agree: do you not?"
Surprised to be included in the monologue, and grateful that it seemed to be coming to an end, Turin nodded. "Yes. That sounds like a fine idea."
"I am glad you think so, as I am hoping to mention the matter to our King--your foster-father--very soon. I have even given some thought to suitable candidates, and it has occurred to me that I have a young cousin who would do a splendid job. She has spent several years living in a rather large walnut tree and--"
"Another fine idea!" said Turin, feeling the threat of another lengthy speech. "Truly, with ideas like that, I am not surprised that you have been named as one of the King's advisors."
"Thank you." Saeros accepted this cursory homage with a condescending smile. "And you are a Man of, um, intelligence yourself. I am most happy to have found your friendship."
This was more like it. Since the two of them were clearly not friends--acquaintances at best--'friendship' had to be a code word of some sort for the type of activities Beleg had described.
"Should we make camp soon?" Turin asked.
"Oh, is the night approaching?" Saeros glanced around the trees, as if looking for the sun.
"A few more hours yet. But I thought we could head east for a bit, until we hit that stream we crossed earlier. We would have fresh water there, and perhaps a clear spot for a fire. Anyway, judging by the tracks we have seen today, this area is free of large predators, and--"
"Yes, yes, that sounds perfect. Lead on."
Turin looked over at Saeros, surprised by this unquestioning acceptance. His usual hunting companions tended to scrutinize all his proposals, and then to explain to him, with different degrees of tact, what his Mortal senses and mind had missed. But then they were hunters, so it made sense that they would get obsessive about campgrounds, the way Saeros did about--what was it?--walnut production.
"While we walk," said Saeros, "tell me: have you any thoughts on our jewel trade with the Dwarves?"
Not just walnut production, apparently. "No."
"Good. I mean, why should you? You Men do not seem to care for fine jewels. However, you might care more if I explain how the poor decisions made by some of those responsible for it might negatively affect the sword-trade. You see, there is a long-standing agreement..."
Turin did care a little, but not enough to pay attention to all those excessive words. He would have to ask Beleg to explain the situation to him in a sentence or less. Right after he asked him how one should respond to a codeword like 'friendship', and to manage this sort of 'hunting trip' in general. Oh, why couldn't Beleg be here instead of Saeros? He was a much better companion, and far more than passably attractive, besides.
The thought was certainly deserving of further consideration. But for now, Saeros was here, and Beleg was not, so Turin chased the idea from his mind as he led the way towards camp.
***
The usual business of setting up camp took as long as usual; indeed, longer, since Saeros' idea of appropriate camping behaviour was to stand around chattering about completely insignificant matters until given something to do, and then to talk on while doing it. But at least he seemed to accept Turin's decision to arrange their sleeping-places right next to each other, saying only, "wouldn't that little heap over there make a more comfortable pillow?"
Turin looked. "You mean that anthill? Not for me, but then I suppose you Elves are more hardy, and--"
"There is no need to resort to sarcasm." Saeros sounded quite hurt. "So maybe I missed the anthill, but some of us cannot afford to play around in the woods all day."
"Play around?" It was Turin's turn to feel stung. "To protect the woods, you mean."
"Isn't that the Queen's job?"
"She protects Doriath from intruders, true, but still there is Orc-killing to be done just beyond our marches. Anyway, intruders are not the only danger: there are also predators, disease, forest fires... the hunters and marchwardens together manage the wood's resources." Turin was proud of himself for overcoming his rising annoyance, and crafting an explanation sure to appeal to his companion: throughout his speeches, Saeros had seemed very interested in resources.
"All right, I suppose the hunters do harvest some necessary resources." Saeros waved a hand in a rather dismissive manner. "But let us not forget that woods other than ours seem to 'manage' themselves well enough. No, this whole forestry business feels to me like more of an excuse to sit around under--or in--the trees. Not that I truly see the appeal, myself." He glanced around at the nearby trees with contempt, as if they were unwelcome and slovenly intruders.
What sort of an Elf was he, anyway? "Why are you here, then, if you disdain and dislike the woods so?"
"Why, to speak to you, of course." Saeros smiled faintly. "I should have thought what I said today would have made it clear, but if you require it, I can be plainer: I think a closer... acquaintance might benefit us both."
Shocked out of his anger by this blatant declaration, Turin studied Saeros closely: his smile seemed a little forced--but given the embarrassing situation, this made some sense. What was more confusing was Saeros' claim that his speeches had been in any way suggestive. Or was he referring to his lecture on oil, which had certain intimate uses?
But never mind; the details were not important. Turin tried to look as knowing as possible. "I daresay you are right."
"Of course I am. After all, these rough types you normally run around with cannot be of much use to you. Oh, I know the King is fond of his Orc-killing heroes, after a fashion, but their influence is clearly waning now that we have seen what heroism leads to. I do not mean just the recent defeats," he added quickly, "but also the King's personal situation. In particular, Luthien's departure, which, although it is tied to what some might term a victory for the heroic approach to life, has hurt our rulers deeply, to the point that they look for... Well, I think the incident might have made them more willing to adopt you. Which is a good thing, in its way, naturally."
It amazed Turin that someone could be simultaneously so boring and so offensive; he found himself stifling both a yawn and an urge to hit Saeros over the head with a bit of firewood for speaking so insultingly of his friends, of the King, of himself, and even the heroic ethos he held dear. He had to shut Saeros up: a few more words, and Turin would be incapable of deepening their acquaintance on any level.
"Never mind the politics," he said. "Now, I hope you do not mind me speaking plainly, as you have done: how do we begin?"
Saeros sent him a rather subtle glance. "What do you mean?"
"Well, since I have spent most of my time here hunting with full-grown warriors, I do not know much about these... friendship rituals of the younger Elves."
"Rituals?" Saeros' subtlety dissolved into confusion. "I know nothing of any rituals."
"Customs, then." Turin tried to recall what Beleg had said. Shared fantasies of Luthien had definitely been involved. "Are there any maidens you find particularly attractive?"
"What? I... I am too young for that sort of thing. At least, to my mind--I wish to be fully established in my career before I marry."
"Ah. Good." As a justification for groping other males out in the woods, it sounded more prosaic than Beleg's tales of strengthening the bonds of friendship, but it would do. "What do we do then, compare techniques?"
"Techniques?"
"Yes, personal techniques." Turin laid his hand on Saeros' shoulder and looked into his eyes with what he hoped was the right sort of intensity.
"Are you talking about swordplay? Because I do not--"
Turin moved his hand to Saeros' hip.
"Ah Eru!" Saeros leapt backwards, stumbled on a root, and recovered a few paces away, both hands held out in front of his body. "No, no, stay away!" His panicked tone made it clear he was not merely suggesting they wait until after dinner.
"What is the problem?" Turin asked. "Did you want to talk more, beforehand? Because I must confess, talking is not really my--"
"Talk... beforehand? No! You cannot really believe I would ever... Ah, Eru." Saeros put one hand to his lips, as if nauseated.
"What is your problem?" Turin's voice, which had been holding steadily low for months now, squeaked on the final word. "First you make all those suggestive comments, about oil and a closer acquaintance, and now you act like I'm offering you rotten meat!"
"I was speaking of politics, idiot. And how should I act when you insult me so, you... you dumb, barbaric, mortal beast? I am one of the Firstborn--"
"You are a pathetic excuse for an Elf who cannot tell his ass from an anthill. I have been patient as a rock, listening to your endless blathering, simply because..." Recalling his reasons, and viewing Saeros' now hateful form, Turin felt rather sickened himself. "Out of courtesy, which you so clearly lack. I have been trying to adapt to your customs, as Beleg advised me--"
"Ah, Beleg, of course. Beleg Why-Not-Go-Hunting-With-Beren. I should have known he'd been the one to suggest this perversion, with his sick, Mortal-loving mind. Well, most of us are not so open to bestiality!"
Turin could think of only one response: he punched Saeros in the face, and watched him stumble back to sit on the ground, holding his bleeding nose as he gazed up with a mixture of fear and disgust.
"The King will hear of this," he said at last.
"Good," said Turin. "Of course, when he asks me why I struck you, I will have to tell him what you said about Elves who dally with Men. I suspect he might consider this a topic of personal interest."
Saeros got the threat at once: his eyes darkened.
"And now," Turin continued, "I think I will leave you to get in touch with your tree-loving Elven roots."
He gathered his gear, keeping an eye on his newfound enemy, and slipped off into the forest. Its blissful silence was balm for his hurt pride, and even his disappointment. The northern lodge was only a day away; surely Beleg would be there still, and interested in hearing how his advice had turned out?