Another Aredhel Drabble
Aredhel/Caranthir-->because I have a really stupid facination with Aredhel/any Feanorian boy, an obsession that keeps me up nights writing horribly cliched stuff.
As always, it all belongs to Tolkien. I'm just playing with his characters.
Sometimes Aredhel longed for Caranthir, for no one in the hidden city argued quite like her cousin. Oh, Turgon could debate the finer points of rule until he turned blue in the face, and Glorfindel would turn all stuffy and offended if twitted about his hair; but both options left much to be desired. When Aredhel was in a certain mood, only Caranthir would do.
She missed the wild spark that lit in his eyes when some remark of hers got under his skin. His temper seemed to give him the key to her most hidden, shameful thoughts, the ones that showed the selfishness and greed she wanted to keep hidden. He always knew just what to say to make her absolutely furious. It was almost deliciously exciting to wonder if he truly knew the contents of her soul.
She craved the uncertainty, needed to be infuriated past the point of reason. She wanted to scream her denials, or to surprise him with a sudden admission of truth--inexplicably, nothing made him angrier than to be told he was right about her innermost thoughts. And oh, how she missed those spine tingling threats whispered deadly soft into her ear. One could never tell if he truly meant them.
Most of all, she yearned for that moment if unbelievable tension just before their mutual anger became so ridiculous that someone inevitably dissolved into laughter. It was almost better than collapsing sweaty and tear-streaked into his arms just after, all forgiven and forgotten.
No, no one could argue quite like Caranthir.
As always, it all belongs to Tolkien. I'm just playing with his characters.
Sometimes Aredhel longed for Caranthir, for no one in the hidden city argued quite like her cousin. Oh, Turgon could debate the finer points of rule until he turned blue in the face, and Glorfindel would turn all stuffy and offended if twitted about his hair; but both options left much to be desired. When Aredhel was in a certain mood, only Caranthir would do.
She missed the wild spark that lit in his eyes when some remark of hers got under his skin. His temper seemed to give him the key to her most hidden, shameful thoughts, the ones that showed the selfishness and greed she wanted to keep hidden. He always knew just what to say to make her absolutely furious. It was almost deliciously exciting to wonder if he truly knew the contents of her soul.
She craved the uncertainty, needed to be infuriated past the point of reason. She wanted to scream her denials, or to surprise him with a sudden admission of truth--inexplicably, nothing made him angrier than to be told he was right about her innermost thoughts. And oh, how she missed those spine tingling threats whispered deadly soft into her ear. One could never tell if he truly meant them.
Most of all, she yearned for that moment if unbelievable tension just before their mutual anger became so ridiculous that someone inevitably dissolved into laughter. It was almost better than collapsing sweaty and tear-streaked into his arms just after, all forgiven and forgotten.
No, no one could argue quite like Caranthir.