Entry #4
Some 1,200 words, written slower than my previous breakneck pace of 500 words/hour. Oh well. Still much faster than my other fics.
The usual business of setting up camp took as long as usual; indeed, longer, since Saeros did not possess the same sense of what needed to be done as Turin's usual hunting companions. His idea of appropriate camping behaviour was to stand around chatting until given something to do, and then to chat 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. "Some of us have better things to do than playing around in the woods every day."
It was Turin's turn to feel stung. "Protecting 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 manage the wood's resources." Turin was proud of himself for coming up with such a rational explanation in spite of his rising annoyance, and such an appealing explanation, too: throughout his speeches, Saeros had seemed very interested in resources.
"Well, yes, the hunters do gather resources, I suppose." 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 hunting 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 visitors.
What sort of an Elf was he, anyway? "Why are you here, then, if you disdain and dislike the hunt 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 let me be plain: I think a closer... acquaintance might benefit us both."
Shocked out of his anger by this blatant statement, Turin studied Saeros closely: his smile seemed a little forced--but then the situation was rather embarrassing, so this made 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; it was not important.
"I daresay you are right," said Turin.
"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 heroic hunters, 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 said 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, 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 hunter friends, of the King, of Turin 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 look. "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. "What do we do then, compare techniques?"
"Techniques?"
"By Morgoth!" 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 straightened himself 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 face, 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 tree-stump, 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, he and his sick, Mortal-loving mind. Well, most of us are not so open to bestiality!"
Turin punched him in the face. He stumbled 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. But do remember that, when he asks me why I struck you, I will have to tell him what you said about Elves who dally with Men. I believe he might find this a touchy subject."
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. Then, he slipped off into the forest. Its blissful silence was balm for his hurt pride, and even his disappointment.
I think the next scene will have to involve Turin talking to Mortal-loving Beleg about how his advice worked out. Unless I can think of some more complications.
The usual business of setting up camp took as long as usual; indeed, longer, since Saeros did not possess the same sense of what needed to be done as Turin's usual hunting companions. His idea of appropriate camping behaviour was to stand around chatting until given something to do, and then to chat 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. "Some of us have better things to do than playing around in the woods every day."
It was Turin's turn to feel stung. "Protecting 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 manage the wood's resources." Turin was proud of himself for coming up with such a rational explanation in spite of his rising annoyance, and such an appealing explanation, too: throughout his speeches, Saeros had seemed very interested in resources.
"Well, yes, the hunters do gather resources, I suppose." 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 hunting 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 visitors.
What sort of an Elf was he, anyway? "Why are you here, then, if you disdain and dislike the hunt 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 let me be plain: I think a closer... acquaintance might benefit us both."
Shocked out of his anger by this blatant statement, Turin studied Saeros closely: his smile seemed a little forced--but then the situation was rather embarrassing, so this made 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; it was not important.
"I daresay you are right," said Turin.
"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 heroic hunters, 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 said 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, 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 hunter friends, of the King, of Turin 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 look. "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. "What do we do then, compare techniques?"
"Techniques?"
"By Morgoth!" 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 straightened himself 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 face, 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 tree-stump, 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, he and his sick, Mortal-loving mind. Well, most of us are not so open to bestiality!"
Turin punched him in the face. He stumbled 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. But do remember that, when he asks me why I struck you, I will have to tell him what you said about Elves who dally with Men. I believe he might find this a touchy subject."
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. Then, he slipped off into the forest. Its blissful silence was balm for his hurt pride, and even his disappointment.
I think the next scene will have to involve Turin talking to Mortal-loving Beleg about how his advice worked out. Unless I can think of some more complications.