Aredhel Drabbles
Jun. 19th, 2007 12:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fairjennetMischief
Aredhel crawled to the edge of her blanket and poked a cautious finger into the strange, knobby rug that lay beneath. She knew she was not meant to venture out beyond the blanket’s decorated floral border. Unless she was cunning, some big person would scoop her up and deposit her right back in the middle of her fluffy prison.
She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Not a skirt in sight; only a forest of linen-clad legs atop booted feet. Aredhel gurgled happily and crawled out onto the rug. Big people who wore pants rarely noticed babies.
Curious
Aredhel wanted to scratch her knee. She had skinned it sliding down a rocky hill the day before, and now the scab itched like fire. The more she thought about it the more it itched, until a thousand ants seemed to be crawling up and down her leg. Her fingers twitched but remained on the window ledge above her head. A true hunter never made any unnecessary movements when stalking prey. Tyelcormo said so.
Ever so slowly, she pulled herself up until she could peek through her cousins’ window. Her eyes widened. It was bath night in the house of Feanor.
The White Lady
“Did you hear that?” Anaire asked incredulously.
“What, that they called Aredhel the dark lady?“ Fingolfin shrugged. “So next time she can walk with her brothers in the procession instead of with Artanis.”
Anaire grimaced but then looked thoughtfully at her daughter. The girl skipped along beside such a vision of white and gold loveliness that people couldn‘t help but make an unfavorable comparison. “No, I think this calls for something much more drastic,” she mused. “Perhaps I could do something with bleach?“
Fingolfin sighed. “Not the hair, darling.”
Anaire regretfully turned her thoughts to white dresses and silver jewelry.
Defeat
In the end, when the white hot birth pains faded to a dull, exhausted haze of red, Aredhel cried out for Eol. He did not answer, nor did he bring her the light she begged for with her last strength--and so their son was born into darkness there in the shadows of the trees.
Perhaps Eol stood nearby to watch this final indignity. Perhaps he stayed in the forge, confident that his power would prevent her from escaping into the faint sunlight at the edge of Nan Elmoth, even without his full concentration. She preferred to think that he watched.
Aredhel crawled to the edge of her blanket and poked a cautious finger into the strange, knobby rug that lay beneath. She knew she was not meant to venture out beyond the blanket’s decorated floral border. Unless she was cunning, some big person would scoop her up and deposit her right back in the middle of her fluffy prison.
She peeked out of the corner of her eye. Not a skirt in sight; only a forest of linen-clad legs atop booted feet. Aredhel gurgled happily and crawled out onto the rug. Big people who wore pants rarely noticed babies.
Curious
Aredhel wanted to scratch her knee. She had skinned it sliding down a rocky hill the day before, and now the scab itched like fire. The more she thought about it the more it itched, until a thousand ants seemed to be crawling up and down her leg. Her fingers twitched but remained on the window ledge above her head. A true hunter never made any unnecessary movements when stalking prey. Tyelcormo said so.
Ever so slowly, she pulled herself up until she could peek through her cousins’ window. Her eyes widened. It was bath night in the house of Feanor.
The White Lady
“Did you hear that?” Anaire asked incredulously.
“What, that they called Aredhel the dark lady?“ Fingolfin shrugged. “So next time she can walk with her brothers in the procession instead of with Artanis.”
Anaire grimaced but then looked thoughtfully at her daughter. The girl skipped along beside such a vision of white and gold loveliness that people couldn‘t help but make an unfavorable comparison. “No, I think this calls for something much more drastic,” she mused. “Perhaps I could do something with bleach?“
Fingolfin sighed. “Not the hair, darling.”
Anaire regretfully turned her thoughts to white dresses and silver jewelry.
Defeat
In the end, when the white hot birth pains faded to a dull, exhausted haze of red, Aredhel cried out for Eol. He did not answer, nor did he bring her the light she begged for with her last strength--and so their son was born into darkness there in the shadows of the trees.
Perhaps Eol stood nearby to watch this final indignity. Perhaps he stayed in the forge, confident that his power would prevent her from escaping into the faint sunlight at the edge of Nan Elmoth, even without his full concentration. She preferred to think that he watched.
