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silwritersguild2005-09-27 09:02 pm
mirien.livejournal.com) wrote in silwritersguild2005-09-27 09:02 pm
Fluff warning!
I never do this. I never write fluff. But something [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]'s Maedhros muse said the other day made me want to. So, this is for the elf who always gets (I did look for the quote and now I can't find it, so I'll try to remember), "blood, battles and THAT ROCK".
If you can't stand the thought of Maedhros as a kid, don't read. Hmm, and I mostly avoided the angst *looks witheringly at Fëanor, who ignores her* Seems I can't write anything without just a little angst, even fluff.
This is part one. It was supposed to be a single chapter thing but alas my muses get away from me all the time and this is no exception. Plus it's a story of two halves. Sort of. Part two will be a bit more adult, well alright, a lot more adult. It's not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
Cross-posted to my LJ, apologies to my flist.
Alright, here it is.
Title: When First I Loved You (what?? This is *fluff*!)
Author: Mirien
Pairing: None yet, though future Maedhros/Fingon
Rating: G, this chapter.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they just hang around my life. I try to get them to play nice.
Author's note: Although Miriel did not die in childbirth but after, I think it’s reasonable to think she would be in the minds of any of the males of the House of Finwë, whenever one of their wives is giving birth.
Also, without wishing to reopen the Elven eye colour debate, I gave Fingon blue-grey eyes arbitrarily. So there *grins*
When First I Loved You
Fingolfin’s elegant house was silent, the noise and frantic activity that had filled it with noise and hurrying feet during the light of Telperion having given way to the stealing peace of Laurelin. Nothing stirred, and none walked the wood-panelled corridors; elves who had been anxiously awaiting news of their lady now having finally sought their beds, joyous in the news that Anairë had been safely delivered of a son.
In a small room, panelled with a light wood that glowed in the growing golden light, a child lay asleep in a huge bed which dwarfed him. As the light fell across his face, he stirred. The grey eyes opened, a look of confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings crossing the small face. Then his face lit with delight and the child jumped out of bed and ran from the room, red hair flying.
***
Maedhros had arrived with his parents in the cool light of Telperion’s waxing, yawning in his father’s arms, aware of the tension in Fëanor’s body that seemed to him to have little to do with the fuss which made his mother’s eyes, the most beautiful eyes of any Elf he knew, shine as her rare smile lit her face.
He had been lifted from his bed and a deep sleep, to accompany his parents to his uncle’s house and had fought to stay awake with all the tenacity in his small body, obediently crawling into the tunic and soft breeches his nurse held out for him, yawning hugely. His father, tall and oddly silent, had come into the room, already wearing his cloak. He had dismissed the nurse and knelt to help his son put his boots on, speaking quietly to the still half asleep child, then lifting him and carrying him out to the waiting horses.
Maedhros had been dimly aware of his mother’s frown when she saw them. But she had smiled reassuringly at his uncertain look and he knew that whatever caused her to look so, it was his father and not he who had incurred her displeasure.
He had not been privy to the brief but characteristically heated disagreement Nerdanel had had with her husband over taking their child from his bed, had not heard her tell Fëanor with her usual frankness that he need not remind his brother he had already produced a son, calling him foolish and overproud. He had not heard either Fëanor’s sharp retort that Maedhros would accompany them, as his son and heir. Nerdanel had contented herself with a shake of her head, eyes still angry, biting back the words she knew he would ignore. Then she had sighed and kissed her husband, the fierce anger that arced in the space between them fading as it always did in the face of their even fiercer love. But her eyes were troubled as her husband left the room and she bit her lip with the remnants of frustration as she bent to retrieve her cloak, her own pregnancy making the movement more awkward than she would have liked. Nerdanel was quick to anger, but also quick to forgive, something her father had once wryly remarked was fortunate considering her choice of husband.
Fëanor had reappeared with Maedhros in his arms in time to set his young son atop his own huge horse and help his wife to mount her own. The animal snorted and Maedhros grabbed the long silver mane, burying his fingers in it, blinking in the light as he saw his mother’s frown turn into a smile and his father kiss her hands and look up at her as if he asked her forgiveness. The small boy relaxed as he watched them, secure once more, shivering slightly after the warmth of his bed and waiting for his father to mount behind him and wrap him in his warm cloak.
Fëanor held his son tightly as they rode, shaking his head and not answering when Maedhros squirmed around to ask him if his new cousin would come soon. Maedhros looked at his mother who reached over from her own horse to touch his hair; he turned his face into her palm, her touch reassuring him. But Fëanor only looked ahead, though he absently kissed his son’s head as they entered the huge mithril gates with the swans on them that Maedhros loved to climb when he could elude his many keepers on rare visits here. His beloved father’s disquiet puzzled him as he yawned again, barely seeing the elegantly curving wings, the beaks of crystal and moonstone, burrowing further into the powerful arms which held him.
When Fëanor’s arms tightened to lift him from the horse, he murmured, roused from sleep. He felt his father stiffen imperceptibly when they were ushered into the great, elegant house and up the wide staircase, beneath carved trees and falling water from fountains so real looking Maedhros let his fingers trail over the carving as they passed, then looked at his fingers to see if they were wet.
Fingolfin stopped pacing when they arrived outside the birthing room and raised wary, tired eyes at the sight of his half-brother. Maedhros looked sleepily at Fingolfin’s expression and struggled to get down until Fëanor set him gently on his feet. The child ran to his uncle, confident of the warm, strong embrace Fingolfin swept him into. Neither saw Fëanor’s face relax slightly or the slight nod as he watched his brother hug Maedhros tightly, watched stoic Fingolfin bury his face in the child’s hair as if for reassurance.
The fëa of Miriel seemed present at any birth in the family of Finwë, and Fingolfin loved Anairë as deeply as he loved his own wife. Fëanor understood well the fear in Fingolfin’s heart. Though there was little love and less understanding between them, Fëanor would not begrudge his brother the comfort of Maedhros’ childish hugs and the warmth of his open, generous heart.
Maedhros had looked up into his uncle’s face and kissed his cheek, “Atar says the baby is coming, you must be brave, Nolofinwë, like my atar.”
Fingolfin looked down at the small face, at the eyes that were fixed on his insistently, letting his instinctive reaction fade in the face of the child’s earnest expression, “If you say so, Nelyo, I will be brave, for my Anairë. Is that better?”
Maedhros nodded solemnly and hugged his tall uncle again, then he drew back, “Will I be allowed to love the baby?”
Fingolfin frowned, looking up and catching Fëanor’s eyes. His brother shrugged, though his eyes were shadowed, as though he suspected what Maedhros would say. Nerdanel leaned into her husband as if she knew too well their son’s candour and wished he hadn’t chosen to exercise it now. Fingolfin settled his nephew more comfortably against his hip.
“What do you mean, Nelyafinwë?”
Maedhros’ thought carefully, then he said with devastating honesty, “You and atar seem not to love each other sometimes and I should not like not to be able to love my cousin.”
Once more, Fingolfin struggled not to let his reaction show on his face. He did not look up, aware that Nerdanel had closed her eyes and Fëanor’s face had darkened, though neither spoke. He lifted Maedhros, holding him until they were eye to eye and spoke to him sincerely.
“Nelyo, my child and you will be friends, I am sure of it. Good friends. And you have my permission to love him always. You may have need of each other, though the Valar willing only for the comfort and happiness of each other’s company.”
Maedhros looked back at him, small face thoughtful, then he smiled, so sweetly, Fingolfin felt tears prick his eyes. A small hand touched his face, “Then I hope the baby comes soon that I may see him and start to love him as soon as he is born.”
Fingolfin, relieved at the lessening of tension in the room and realising something, laughed, “Him? How do you know it will be a boy, Nelyo?”
“I just know,” came the firm reply. Then in the way of small children, from one breath to the next, Maedhros was asleep, safe and loved, reassured that the fear he would somehow be kept from his cousin had been allayed.
***
When the child was born, and his beloved wife asleep after her long labour, Fingolfin smiled to see that his young nephew had been right. He held his son close, peering into the tiny face which was screwed up as though in fierce concentration. A thread from the blanket had come loose, gold against the shock of sable hair and Fingolfin brushed it away gently. As he looked on his son, the grey eyes opened. They were tinged with blue, a legacy of Fingolfin’s mother.
“Findekáno,” he whispered. He walked to the window, watching as the light from the Two Trees mingled, kissing his son’s hair, softly singing to him, thinking of Maedhros’ words. He laid his son gently in the carved cradle by his wife’s bed and looked down at the sleeping infant. He leaned over to press his lips lovingly to his wife’s hair, then smiling once more at his son, murmured, “Sleep well, my Findekáno.” With a final kiss to the soft black hair he quietly left the room.
A few moments later, the door opened again, seemingly pushed by an invisible hand. Then a small face peered around the door cautiously. Maedhros looked at the bed, seeing his aunt asleep, and the cradle next to it. He took a few steps into the room. grinned and stole up to the side of the cradle, hardly daring to breathe. Standing on tiptoe, hands grasping its wooden sides he looked into it at the sleeping baby.
Maedhros was enchanted. Ai, he was so beautiful! He reached in to touch the dark hair, smiling as the baby opened unfocused eyes and made a soft noise. Maedhros looked at the bed, but Anairë still slept. He glanced down once more at his cousin who squirmed and caught one tiny fist in Maedhros’s hair. Maedhros laughed quietly, feeling his child’s heart swell with love. Something settled into place inside him, unnoticed, as though an unseen hand touched his heart. At her tapestry, Vairë’s fingers wove two threads together and she wondered.
Maedhros gazed down for a long time, his face suddenly older, lost in watching his cousin. Then he leant over precariously and kissed the soft cheek, touching his forehead to the tiny brow.
“You are my cousin, “Maedhros whispered, then he vowed, “And I will love you forever. ”
If you can't stand the thought of Maedhros as a kid, don't read. Hmm, and I mostly avoided the angst *looks witheringly at Fëanor, who ignores her* Seems I can't write anything without just a little angst, even fluff.
This is part one. It was supposed to be a single chapter thing but alas my muses get away from me all the time and this is no exception. Plus it's a story of two halves. Sort of. Part two will be a bit more adult, well alright, a lot more adult. It's not beta'd, so any mistakes are mine.
Cross-posted to my LJ, apologies to my flist.
Alright, here it is.
Title: When First I Loved You (what?? This is *fluff*!)
Author: Mirien
Pairing: None yet, though future Maedhros/Fingon
Rating: G, this chapter.
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, they just hang around my life. I try to get them to play nice.
Author's note: Although Miriel did not die in childbirth but after, I think it’s reasonable to think she would be in the minds of any of the males of the House of Finwë, whenever one of their wives is giving birth.
Also, without wishing to reopen the Elven eye colour debate, I gave Fingon blue-grey eyes arbitrarily. So there *grins*
When First I Loved You
Fingolfin’s elegant house was silent, the noise and frantic activity that had filled it with noise and hurrying feet during the light of Telperion having given way to the stealing peace of Laurelin. Nothing stirred, and none walked the wood-panelled corridors; elves who had been anxiously awaiting news of their lady now having finally sought their beds, joyous in the news that Anairë had been safely delivered of a son.
In a small room, panelled with a light wood that glowed in the growing golden light, a child lay asleep in a huge bed which dwarfed him. As the light fell across his face, he stirred. The grey eyes opened, a look of confusion at the unfamiliar surroundings crossing the small face. Then his face lit with delight and the child jumped out of bed and ran from the room, red hair flying.
***
Maedhros had arrived with his parents in the cool light of Telperion’s waxing, yawning in his father’s arms, aware of the tension in Fëanor’s body that seemed to him to have little to do with the fuss which made his mother’s eyes, the most beautiful eyes of any Elf he knew, shine as her rare smile lit her face.
He had been lifted from his bed and a deep sleep, to accompany his parents to his uncle’s house and had fought to stay awake with all the tenacity in his small body, obediently crawling into the tunic and soft breeches his nurse held out for him, yawning hugely. His father, tall and oddly silent, had come into the room, already wearing his cloak. He had dismissed the nurse and knelt to help his son put his boots on, speaking quietly to the still half asleep child, then lifting him and carrying him out to the waiting horses.
Maedhros had been dimly aware of his mother’s frown when she saw them. But she had smiled reassuringly at his uncertain look and he knew that whatever caused her to look so, it was his father and not he who had incurred her displeasure.
He had not been privy to the brief but characteristically heated disagreement Nerdanel had had with her husband over taking their child from his bed, had not heard her tell Fëanor with her usual frankness that he need not remind his brother he had already produced a son, calling him foolish and overproud. He had not heard either Fëanor’s sharp retort that Maedhros would accompany them, as his son and heir. Nerdanel had contented herself with a shake of her head, eyes still angry, biting back the words she knew he would ignore. Then she had sighed and kissed her husband, the fierce anger that arced in the space between them fading as it always did in the face of their even fiercer love. But her eyes were troubled as her husband left the room and she bit her lip with the remnants of frustration as she bent to retrieve her cloak, her own pregnancy making the movement more awkward than she would have liked. Nerdanel was quick to anger, but also quick to forgive, something her father had once wryly remarked was fortunate considering her choice of husband.
Fëanor had reappeared with Maedhros in his arms in time to set his young son atop his own huge horse and help his wife to mount her own. The animal snorted and Maedhros grabbed the long silver mane, burying his fingers in it, blinking in the light as he saw his mother’s frown turn into a smile and his father kiss her hands and look up at her as if he asked her forgiveness. The small boy relaxed as he watched them, secure once more, shivering slightly after the warmth of his bed and waiting for his father to mount behind him and wrap him in his warm cloak.
Fëanor held his son tightly as they rode, shaking his head and not answering when Maedhros squirmed around to ask him if his new cousin would come soon. Maedhros looked at his mother who reached over from her own horse to touch his hair; he turned his face into her palm, her touch reassuring him. But Fëanor only looked ahead, though he absently kissed his son’s head as they entered the huge mithril gates with the swans on them that Maedhros loved to climb when he could elude his many keepers on rare visits here. His beloved father’s disquiet puzzled him as he yawned again, barely seeing the elegantly curving wings, the beaks of crystal and moonstone, burrowing further into the powerful arms which held him.
When Fëanor’s arms tightened to lift him from the horse, he murmured, roused from sleep. He felt his father stiffen imperceptibly when they were ushered into the great, elegant house and up the wide staircase, beneath carved trees and falling water from fountains so real looking Maedhros let his fingers trail over the carving as they passed, then looked at his fingers to see if they were wet.
Fingolfin stopped pacing when they arrived outside the birthing room and raised wary, tired eyes at the sight of his half-brother. Maedhros looked sleepily at Fingolfin’s expression and struggled to get down until Fëanor set him gently on his feet. The child ran to his uncle, confident of the warm, strong embrace Fingolfin swept him into. Neither saw Fëanor’s face relax slightly or the slight nod as he watched his brother hug Maedhros tightly, watched stoic Fingolfin bury his face in the child’s hair as if for reassurance.
The fëa of Miriel seemed present at any birth in the family of Finwë, and Fingolfin loved Anairë as deeply as he loved his own wife. Fëanor understood well the fear in Fingolfin’s heart. Though there was little love and less understanding between them, Fëanor would not begrudge his brother the comfort of Maedhros’ childish hugs and the warmth of his open, generous heart.
Maedhros had looked up into his uncle’s face and kissed his cheek, “Atar says the baby is coming, you must be brave, Nolofinwë, like my atar.”
Fingolfin looked down at the small face, at the eyes that were fixed on his insistently, letting his instinctive reaction fade in the face of the child’s earnest expression, “If you say so, Nelyo, I will be brave, for my Anairë. Is that better?”
Maedhros nodded solemnly and hugged his tall uncle again, then he drew back, “Will I be allowed to love the baby?”
Fingolfin frowned, looking up and catching Fëanor’s eyes. His brother shrugged, though his eyes were shadowed, as though he suspected what Maedhros would say. Nerdanel leaned into her husband as if she knew too well their son’s candour and wished he hadn’t chosen to exercise it now. Fingolfin settled his nephew more comfortably against his hip.
“What do you mean, Nelyafinwë?”
Maedhros’ thought carefully, then he said with devastating honesty, “You and atar seem not to love each other sometimes and I should not like not to be able to love my cousin.”
Once more, Fingolfin struggled not to let his reaction show on his face. He did not look up, aware that Nerdanel had closed her eyes and Fëanor’s face had darkened, though neither spoke. He lifted Maedhros, holding him until they were eye to eye and spoke to him sincerely.
“Nelyo, my child and you will be friends, I am sure of it. Good friends. And you have my permission to love him always. You may have need of each other, though the Valar willing only for the comfort and happiness of each other’s company.”
Maedhros looked back at him, small face thoughtful, then he smiled, so sweetly, Fingolfin felt tears prick his eyes. A small hand touched his face, “Then I hope the baby comes soon that I may see him and start to love him as soon as he is born.”
Fingolfin, relieved at the lessening of tension in the room and realising something, laughed, “Him? How do you know it will be a boy, Nelyo?”
“I just know,” came the firm reply. Then in the way of small children, from one breath to the next, Maedhros was asleep, safe and loved, reassured that the fear he would somehow be kept from his cousin had been allayed.
***
When the child was born, and his beloved wife asleep after her long labour, Fingolfin smiled to see that his young nephew had been right. He held his son close, peering into the tiny face which was screwed up as though in fierce concentration. A thread from the blanket had come loose, gold against the shock of sable hair and Fingolfin brushed it away gently. As he looked on his son, the grey eyes opened. They were tinged with blue, a legacy of Fingolfin’s mother.
“Findekáno,” he whispered. He walked to the window, watching as the light from the Two Trees mingled, kissing his son’s hair, softly singing to him, thinking of Maedhros’ words. He laid his son gently in the carved cradle by his wife’s bed and looked down at the sleeping infant. He leaned over to press his lips lovingly to his wife’s hair, then smiling once more at his son, murmured, “Sleep well, my Findekáno.” With a final kiss to the soft black hair he quietly left the room.
A few moments later, the door opened again, seemingly pushed by an invisible hand. Then a small face peered around the door cautiously. Maedhros looked at the bed, seeing his aunt asleep, and the cradle next to it. He took a few steps into the room. grinned and stole up to the side of the cradle, hardly daring to breathe. Standing on tiptoe, hands grasping its wooden sides he looked into it at the sleeping baby.
Maedhros was enchanted. Ai, he was so beautiful! He reached in to touch the dark hair, smiling as the baby opened unfocused eyes and made a soft noise. Maedhros looked at the bed, but Anairë still slept. He glanced down once more at his cousin who squirmed and caught one tiny fist in Maedhros’s hair. Maedhros laughed quietly, feeling his child’s heart swell with love. Something settled into place inside him, unnoticed, as though an unseen hand touched his heart. At her tapestry, Vairë’s fingers wove two threads together and she wondered.
Maedhros gazed down for a long time, his face suddenly older, lost in watching his cousin. Then he leant over precariously and kissed the soft cheek, touching his forehead to the tiny brow.
“You are my cousin, “Maedhros whispered, then he vowed, “And I will love you forever. ”