Ficlet: Labours of Love
A glimpse of Noldorin family dynamics. With thanks to Súlriel and Erulisse for their kind suggestions and to Calenlass Greenleaf for betaing.
Labours of Love
When she saw her eldest approach, she straightened her aching back and laid down her tools. The distraction from her work was quite welcome; she had been unable to figure out how to begin. She watched her son with loving eyes: To her, he epitomised the beauty of their people, perfect of body as he was. Yet this evening, a frown marred his face.
'What is wrong?’ she asked him, determined to remove the flaw from his features.
He looked at her briefly, and then averted his gaze. How often had she seen that gesture over the years? Last was when he overheard a casual remark comparing him to his youngest brother; it had taken her a while to coax him back to his usual confident self after that.
'Tell me, that I might ease your worry,' she demanded, and he dutifully explained to her what weighed on his mind.
'Just now, two men from the tool-makers’ guild came to the door with a message to Father-about the charges for working with the new alloy-and I apologized that he was currently unavailable. I told them I would convey their message. Then they asked what Father might be doing at this late hour, and I explained that he was labouring in his forge, creating new artefacts, and had left instructions not be interrupted.’
He stopped for a moment, then told the rest in a carefully dispassionate manner which did, however, not deceive her for even a moment.
‘As they left, I overheard one of them say to the other, "Or perhaps he's labouring in his bedroom, creating a new son!" and they laughed. Laughed!'
He still refused to look her in the eye, and she sighed. His pride was hurt, but it was more than that. Her eldest son was loyal to a fault and she suspected that what pained him the most was that he had felt as if he should be embarrassed of his family: and now he was ashamed of that feeling. She silently cursed the careless tongues of the guildsmen. Although she knew they meant no harm-bawdy humour was simply their way-she sometimes wished she could move her family far away from this place of idle gossip and thoughtless chatter, and live peacefully in the country, just the seven of them. Yet it would not be practical, and she was nothing if not practical. It was best to deal with matters as they were, and not how one wished them to be.
Now, how to cleanse this hurt before it festered? The direct approach, she knew, always worked best with him, delicate though the subject was; he was not one for evasive answers or circumspect explanations. But first, she needed his full attention. A frontal attack should do the trick.
'My son, are you ashamed of your parents?'
His hair shone like polished copper in the golden light as he spun around to face her.
'No, Mother. Never!' Then he hesitated and added, as diplomatically as he was able in his current state, 'But it is unusual, is it not, to have five children, when many have only one single child. It seems that some find it less than appropriate.'
'And when did your father ever care for propriety?' she laughed, for she was not ashamed and refused to act it.
He smiled, a tiny smile, but nevertheless a huge step in the right direction. Now it was time for the naked truth.
'Your father is, is...,' and she stumbled already, handicapped by trying to describe in words the magnificence that was her husband. Her hands, always better at expressing her feelings, drew shapes in the air in an attempt to explain. Then she laboured on, determinedly stringing together inadequate words.
'He is a force of nature. When I am in his arms, I cannot say no to him - it simply does not occur to me. All I want is to join with him, heart and body and soul. Sometimes the beauty of our joining is such that we crave a tangible memory of it: A child, a proof of our love. You were the first, but not the last, for your father and I were fortunate to be granted more years of generation than most and for that, we are more grateful than you could possibly imagine. Of all the marvels your father's hands have worked in his forge, not one compares to the labours of love that are you and your siblings.'
His eyes shone with joy now, the shameful frown had disappeared from his pale forehead without a trace. She smiled at him, feeling slightly apologetic, for her next words might undo the peace of mind she had sought to restore to him; and she could not even tell him all of it - it would ruin the surprise.
'In the light of all this, I think you should be the first of our children to learn that come summer, your numbers will once more increase.' Before the hated frown could blemish his brow again, she said, teasingly, 'Forewarned is forearmed, you know; now you have time to prepare a witty reply in case you should encounter such ill-mannered people again.'
As she had known he would, he immediately set his clever mind to think out lines to deflect any future insults, and after kissing her cheek he wandered off, his steps light and his shoulders straight.
Nerdanel looked after him, satisfied with the outcome of their conversation, before turning back to her work. Running her strong, sensitive hands over the cool marble, she closed her eyes and once more attempted to sense what form the stone held. It seemed an opportune evening for revelations, after all, and if she were to finish the bust before her stomach grew too large, she had better get started.
Best wishes for a happy and prosperous 2010 to everybody on my F-list!
Labours of Love
When she saw her eldest approach, she straightened her aching back and laid down her tools. The distraction from her work was quite welcome; she had been unable to figure out how to begin. She watched her son with loving eyes: To her, he epitomised the beauty of their people, perfect of body as he was. Yet this evening, a frown marred his face.
'What is wrong?’ she asked him, determined to remove the flaw from his features.
He looked at her briefly, and then averted his gaze. How often had she seen that gesture over the years? Last was when he overheard a casual remark comparing him to his youngest brother; it had taken her a while to coax him back to his usual confident self after that.
'Tell me, that I might ease your worry,' she demanded, and he dutifully explained to her what weighed on his mind.
'Just now, two men from the tool-makers’ guild came to the door with a message to Father-about the charges for working with the new alloy-and I apologized that he was currently unavailable. I told them I would convey their message. Then they asked what Father might be doing at this late hour, and I explained that he was labouring in his forge, creating new artefacts, and had left instructions not be interrupted.’
He stopped for a moment, then told the rest in a carefully dispassionate manner which did, however, not deceive her for even a moment.
‘As they left, I overheard one of them say to the other, "Or perhaps he's labouring in his bedroom, creating a new son!" and they laughed. Laughed!'
He still refused to look her in the eye, and she sighed. His pride was hurt, but it was more than that. Her eldest son was loyal to a fault and she suspected that what pained him the most was that he had felt as if he should be embarrassed of his family: and now he was ashamed of that feeling. She silently cursed the careless tongues of the guildsmen. Although she knew they meant no harm-bawdy humour was simply their way-she sometimes wished she could move her family far away from this place of idle gossip and thoughtless chatter, and live peacefully in the country, just the seven of them. Yet it would not be practical, and she was nothing if not practical. It was best to deal with matters as they were, and not how one wished them to be.
Now, how to cleanse this hurt before it festered? The direct approach, she knew, always worked best with him, delicate though the subject was; he was not one for evasive answers or circumspect explanations. But first, she needed his full attention. A frontal attack should do the trick.
'My son, are you ashamed of your parents?'
His hair shone like polished copper in the golden light as he spun around to face her.
'No, Mother. Never!' Then he hesitated and added, as diplomatically as he was able in his current state, 'But it is unusual, is it not, to have five children, when many have only one single child. It seems that some find it less than appropriate.'
'And when did your father ever care for propriety?' she laughed, for she was not ashamed and refused to act it.
He smiled, a tiny smile, but nevertheless a huge step in the right direction. Now it was time for the naked truth.
'Your father is, is...,' and she stumbled already, handicapped by trying to describe in words the magnificence that was her husband. Her hands, always better at expressing her feelings, drew shapes in the air in an attempt to explain. Then she laboured on, determinedly stringing together inadequate words.
'He is a force of nature. When I am in his arms, I cannot say no to him - it simply does not occur to me. All I want is to join with him, heart and body and soul. Sometimes the beauty of our joining is such that we crave a tangible memory of it: A child, a proof of our love. You were the first, but not the last, for your father and I were fortunate to be granted more years of generation than most and for that, we are more grateful than you could possibly imagine. Of all the marvels your father's hands have worked in his forge, not one compares to the labours of love that are you and your siblings.'
His eyes shone with joy now, the shameful frown had disappeared from his pale forehead without a trace. She smiled at him, feeling slightly apologetic, for her next words might undo the peace of mind she had sought to restore to him; and she could not even tell him all of it - it would ruin the surprise.
'In the light of all this, I think you should be the first of our children to learn that come summer, your numbers will once more increase.' Before the hated frown could blemish his brow again, she said, teasingly, 'Forewarned is forearmed, you know; now you have time to prepare a witty reply in case you should encounter such ill-mannered people again.'
As she had known he would, he immediately set his clever mind to think out lines to deflect any future insults, and after kissing her cheek he wandered off, his steps light and his shoulders straight.
Nerdanel looked after him, satisfied with the outcome of their conversation, before turning back to her work. Running her strong, sensitive hands over the cool marble, she closed her eyes and once more attempted to sense what form the stone held. It seemed an opportune evening for revelations, after all, and if she were to finish the bust before her stomach grew too large, she had better get started.
Best wishes for a happy and prosperous 2010 to everybody on my F-list!