Bath of Gold
Title: Bath of Gold
Fandom: Silmarillion
Characters: Aredhel, Maeglin, babies.
Fanfic 100 Prompt: 093. Thanksgiving.
Word Count: 650
Rating: General
Summary: AU in which Aredhel never died and somehow married Celegorm. Maeglin visits his mother and sisters and babies make miracles.
Author's Notes: For minviendha who wanted Aredhel, sunlight.
For Ireth, joy was encapsulated in a very select group of beings. Her husband, her brothers, her children. Though she loved her family in its entirety, it could be asserted that she would never not put her children first.
It was a clear summer afternoon. The twins Alquarinquë and Hirilondë where at play on a clean carpet, babbling sounds, at times asking for their brother. “Omion,” one of them would say, and the other would repeat, “Omion, Omion, Omion.”
There was nothing that made Ireth happier than to see her baby girls bathing in the gentle sunlight of this summer's afternoon, rolling on their backs and tummies, making gurgling sounds, exploring the impecable floor on all fours, other perhaps than to see her first-born's awe-filled smile when he came to visit his little sisters.
Lomion came in as expected, a touch early. “I hope it's alright,” he said, nervous and vaguely unhappy.
His mother's forehead creased itself with worry. “It's perfectly alright, love,” she said soothingly, and took her boy in her arms without asking. She knew better - he would open up, in time.
He sat on the floor and played with the little ones - they were already crawling toward him, and Alquië took no time to tug at his trousers, demanding to be held. Maeglin bent down, took the little girl in his arms, and held her tightly but always with the fearful gentleness he'd displayed ever since she was born.
Hirië garbled some more, cried a little, wanting attention as well, and her mother took her. “They're becoming heavy,” she said conversationally, trying to keep her tone light as she bounced the baby against her hip.
“They are, mother,” Maeglin replied, and he ticked Alquië's chin. “Aren't you, little sister?” Alquië giggled joyfully and reached to tug at her brother's hair delicately. “Omion!” She was clearly happy to see him, and it seemed that just holding the little one eased him some. “Lomion,” he corrected, and said it again, “Lomion. You can do it, can't you, Meleth?” The baby giggled and repeated with some measure of insolence, loud and clear, “Omion!” Maeglin laughed and his mother's heart became lighter for it.
Hirië was becoming restless, though, and after a moment, so did Alquië. Set back on to the colorful carpet, the babies set to exploring a new game - something made by their father, bubble sand shapes in miriad colors that reflected in the sunlight like an object of wonder. Ireth reflected that Tyelkormo had made treasures for his daughters, no matter how little of a smith he claimed to be.
“Mother,” Maeglin said quietly, eyes on the rugrats, “can we talk?”
“Of course,” she replied, and she immediately proceeded to making tea - it was her default reaction to such requests, theses days. “Is everything alright?”
“She's here,” he said without waiting, and the urgency - the obsessive madness in his voice told Aredhel more than she cared to know. Idril is here, she thought, Eru help us.
“And what of it?” Her voice was quiet - she tried not to betray her nerves.
“I - I think she might not hate me after all,” he said, and Aredhel looked at him sideways, trying to gauge what proportion of wishful thinking took part in his statement. She couldn't evaluate it, alas.
“I would like to see her,” she said slowly. “It's been a long time since I saw my brother's daughter.” Or my brother. Her heart clenched. Would Turukanò ever love her again?
Her request went however unanswered. “Mother, look,” Maeglin's voice called, and the change in tone startled her enough to spill half-boiling water from the kettle.
“Mother, look, they're walking.”
And then, nothing else seemed to matter, in the sunlight-filled room.
Fandom: Silmarillion
Characters: Aredhel, Maeglin, babies.
Fanfic 100 Prompt: 093. Thanksgiving.
Word Count: 650
Rating: General
Summary: AU in which Aredhel never died and somehow married Celegorm. Maeglin visits his mother and sisters and babies make miracles.
Author's Notes: For minviendha who wanted Aredhel, sunlight.
For Ireth, joy was encapsulated in a very select group of beings. Her husband, her brothers, her children. Though she loved her family in its entirety, it could be asserted that she would never not put her children first.
It was a clear summer afternoon. The twins Alquarinquë and Hirilondë where at play on a clean carpet, babbling sounds, at times asking for their brother. “Omion,” one of them would say, and the other would repeat, “Omion, Omion, Omion.”
There was nothing that made Ireth happier than to see her baby girls bathing in the gentle sunlight of this summer's afternoon, rolling on their backs and tummies, making gurgling sounds, exploring the impecable floor on all fours, other perhaps than to see her first-born's awe-filled smile when he came to visit his little sisters.
Lomion came in as expected, a touch early. “I hope it's alright,” he said, nervous and vaguely unhappy.
His mother's forehead creased itself with worry. “It's perfectly alright, love,” she said soothingly, and took her boy in her arms without asking. She knew better - he would open up, in time.
He sat on the floor and played with the little ones - they were already crawling toward him, and Alquië took no time to tug at his trousers, demanding to be held. Maeglin bent down, took the little girl in his arms, and held her tightly but always with the fearful gentleness he'd displayed ever since she was born.
Hirië garbled some more, cried a little, wanting attention as well, and her mother took her. “They're becoming heavy,” she said conversationally, trying to keep her tone light as she bounced the baby against her hip.
“They are, mother,” Maeglin replied, and he ticked Alquië's chin. “Aren't you, little sister?” Alquië giggled joyfully and reached to tug at her brother's hair delicately. “Omion!” She was clearly happy to see him, and it seemed that just holding the little one eased him some. “Lomion,” he corrected, and said it again, “Lomion. You can do it, can't you, Meleth?” The baby giggled and repeated with some measure of insolence, loud and clear, “Omion!” Maeglin laughed and his mother's heart became lighter for it.
Hirië was becoming restless, though, and after a moment, so did Alquië. Set back on to the colorful carpet, the babies set to exploring a new game - something made by their father, bubble sand shapes in miriad colors that reflected in the sunlight like an object of wonder. Ireth reflected that Tyelkormo had made treasures for his daughters, no matter how little of a smith he claimed to be.
“Mother,” Maeglin said quietly, eyes on the rugrats, “can we talk?”
“Of course,” she replied, and she immediately proceeded to making tea - it was her default reaction to such requests, theses days. “Is everything alright?”
“She's here,” he said without waiting, and the urgency - the obsessive madness in his voice told Aredhel more than she cared to know. Idril is here, she thought, Eru help us.
“And what of it?” Her voice was quiet - she tried not to betray her nerves.
“I - I think she might not hate me after all,” he said, and Aredhel looked at him sideways, trying to gauge what proportion of wishful thinking took part in his statement. She couldn't evaluate it, alas.
“I would like to see her,” she said slowly. “It's been a long time since I saw my brother's daughter.” Or my brother. Her heart clenched. Would Turukanò ever love her again?
Her request went however unanswered. “Mother, look,” Maeglin's voice called, and the change in tone startled her enough to spill half-boiling water from the kettle.
“Mother, look, they're walking.”
And then, nothing else seemed to matter, in the sunlight-filled room.