Fic: Like Flames Aegnor, Galadriel Rated: G 1/1
Title: Like Flames
Author: phyncke
Characters: Aegnor, Eärwen, Artanis (Galadriel), Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Orodreth
Beta: keiliss
Email: jhfink@sbcglobal.net
Challenge: tripledogdare: Hair!
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: Aegnor, the sharp flame, and how he got his hair.
Like Flames
...his hair was notable, golden like his brothers and his sister, but strong and stiff, rising upon his head like flames. (Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring)
It was the custom of elves to have long hair though no one was sorrier for this habit than small Aegnor, the youngest son of Finarfin. Each night was a struggle as his mama brushed and tugged on his uncooperative, tangled, moppish head of hair. While its color was a rich, golden hue, it was of such a texture that it needed to be tended to diligently with comb and brush, and this caused him much pain. He grimaced, he fussed but never did he cry. He withstood this treatment bravely, sitting dutifully on his bed while Eärwen patiently worked on his long, snarled tresses. Finally she would be done and would reward him with a kiss to the cheek and a soft smile of appreciation. It almost made it worth it, almost.
/---/
One afternoon, mother and child read comfortably in the parlor. Aegnor lay sprawled out with his picture book written by his Uncle Fëanoro. It matched illustrated drawings to a new fangled system of writing. They were all studying this in the school room and the child sounded the words out loud as he read. His mama sat in her favorite arm chair, sewing quietly by the window. Every now and then she picked up a shiny pair of sharp scissors, snipped a stray thread and put them back in her basket. Those shears caught the little elf’s eye. The metal gleamed in the light and he got an idea as he peered at his mother over the top of his book.
“Lady Eärwen, you are needed in the kitchen. Cook has questions about tonight’s menu.” The servant retreated as soon as he was certain he had his Lady’s attention.
“You will be alright, darling?” she asked her son as she set the half-mended shirt on top of the basket.
“Sure, Mama. I will just be here reading. I really like this book.”
“Alright then. I won’t be long.”
Aegnor hummed and feigned intent interest in the page he was on until his mother left the room in a swish of elegant fabric.
The youngster counted to ten before he crept across the plush, ornate carpeting to rummage through the basket. Before you could say Manwë’s Mountain the parlor was deserted, the instructional book abandoned on the sofa, and one pair of sharp scissors was now missing from Lady Eärwen’s sewing kit.
/---/
Dinner was finally settled and by the time the Lady of the House made it back to the sitting room, her son was long gone, his reading left on the couch, teetering on the verge of falling to the floor. She sighed, picked up the book, returned it to its place on the shelf. She then went in search of her handsome husband. She had finished sewing for now and wanted to see what Finarfin was up to this afternoon. Perhaps they could take a walk or simply spend a little time alone together. She was sure that Aegnor was off at play with his brothers or Artanis and did not need checking on.
/---/
“Where is Aika*?” Little Artanis asked. “He is not here to dine,” the youngest of the family astutely pointed out.
Her brother always sat to her left and that chair was empty. She liked everyone in their place, and he could not pass the food that way if he was not there, now could he? They began to serve tonight’s meal of roast chicken and all assumed that the youngest son was washing up and would soon join them. And so he did, quite soon, as a matter of fact.
All conversation stopped as Aegnor entered the room, walking to his seat to sit down.
“Good evening, son.” Finarfin finally greeted his youngest boy, as though nothing untoward were evident.
“Hello, father. Pass the potatoes please, Arty.” And she did, though she could not help gawking at her elder brother.
“Don’t stare, darling. It is rude to look at another person that way.” Eärwen was careful not to look overlong herself but cast surreptitious glances at her youngest son, examining his now spiked, cut and butchered hair with concealed alarm. She kicked herself for leaving that sewing kit out in the living room.
Aegnor was quite pleased with the outcome of his late afternoon’s work in the bathroom. He had stood on the stepping stool with scissors in hand and cut his long, thick, always tangling hair well above the shoulders and now it was unique, unlike anyone else’s in Valinor or all of Arda for that matter. No other elf had hair like this, he thought, nor would they EVER. He did not look like anyone else. He was different. He beamed at his family as he ate his dinner.
Finrod, Orodreth and Angrod shoveled their food in showing no visible reaction, but they would be the first to defend their brother if anyone mocked him for his new hairstyle. No one would make fun of Aegnor, be they cousin or otherwise. His own brothers might tease, but that was perfectly acceptable behavior in a sibling. Amused glances passed between the three elder sons of Finarfin but they maintained their tacit silence. For now they would say nothing, but later, that was another story; a post-dinner mêlée was in order.
Artanis squirmed on her chair as she tried to contain herself. She wanted to burst out with questions and touch that hair. It was standing on end, straight out from her brother’s head and it looked as though Aegnor had made use of mother’s hair pomade to add to this effect. He had spent hours in front of the mirror to get it just so and thought it looked fiery and dashing. Each spike was purposefully placed and protruded sharply.
“Sit still, my dear. You are fidgeting.”
“I cannot help it, Mama!”
Aegnor could tell she wanted to touch it and so he said, “Arty+, go ahead. You can if you like.”
She reached over and tentatively touched the spiky ends with her fingertips.
“Oooo,” She giggled and did it again.
“I supposed it will grow back again,” Finarfin offered in comfort to his wife, who did not look at all happy.
“I don’t WANT it to grow back. I like it this way,” came the adamant response. Aegnor was resolved.
Both parents nodded and returned to their dinner.
/---/
Later that very same night, Aegnor was tucked safely in his bed, hair washed and slightly damp on his pillow. He awaited his goodnight kiss from his mother. This time their routine had changed and he had not endured the usual torturous combing session. This pleased him greatly.
“If you like, darling, I can even this out some at the ends.” Eärwen combed her fingers through the short, ragged locks, and admitted to herself that they did not tangle anymore.
“Sure, Mama.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“Thank you,” Aegnor yawned widely and promptly fell asleep as the Lady wondered what life had in store for her turbulent child.
/---/
Aegnor travelled to Middle Earth with his kin and became a warrior of great strength and prowess in the struggle against Morgoth. His reputation spread far and wide. Evil creatures feared him fleeing before his wrath when he went to war against them.
In battle, he possessed the aspect of fire, his hair added to that effect as he kept it cut to give the appearance of flames around his head. He wore no helm. He fought with the light of Aman burning in his eyes and when he struck he was like a fire bolt.
He was Aikanáro, the fell fire, the sharp flame.
--------
* Aika=nickname for Aikanáro=Aegnor’s mother name in Quenya, means “fell fire.”
+ Arty=nickname for Artanis=Galadriel’s father name in Quenya, means “noble woman.”
Author: phyncke
Characters: Aegnor, Eärwen, Artanis (Galadriel), Finarfin, Finrod, Angrod, Orodreth
Beta: keiliss
Email: jhfink@sbcglobal.net
Challenge: tripledogdare: Hair!
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, they are the property of JRR Tolkien and his estate. I have borrowed them for my own amusement and for yours I hope.
Summary: Aegnor, the sharp flame, and how he got his hair.
Like Flames
...his hair was notable, golden like his brothers and his sister, but strong and stiff, rising upon his head like flames. (Tolkien, Morgoth’s Ring)
It was the custom of elves to have long hair though no one was sorrier for this habit than small Aegnor, the youngest son of Finarfin. Each night was a struggle as his mama brushed and tugged on his uncooperative, tangled, moppish head of hair. While its color was a rich, golden hue, it was of such a texture that it needed to be tended to diligently with comb and brush, and this caused him much pain. He grimaced, he fussed but never did he cry. He withstood this treatment bravely, sitting dutifully on his bed while Eärwen patiently worked on his long, snarled tresses. Finally she would be done and would reward him with a kiss to the cheek and a soft smile of appreciation. It almost made it worth it, almost.
/---/
One afternoon, mother and child read comfortably in the parlor. Aegnor lay sprawled out with his picture book written by his Uncle Fëanoro. It matched illustrated drawings to a new fangled system of writing. They were all studying this in the school room and the child sounded the words out loud as he read. His mama sat in her favorite arm chair, sewing quietly by the window. Every now and then she picked up a shiny pair of sharp scissors, snipped a stray thread and put them back in her basket. Those shears caught the little elf’s eye. The metal gleamed in the light and he got an idea as he peered at his mother over the top of his book.
“Lady Eärwen, you are needed in the kitchen. Cook has questions about tonight’s menu.” The servant retreated as soon as he was certain he had his Lady’s attention.
“You will be alright, darling?” she asked her son as she set the half-mended shirt on top of the basket.
“Sure, Mama. I will just be here reading. I really like this book.”
“Alright then. I won’t be long.”
Aegnor hummed and feigned intent interest in the page he was on until his mother left the room in a swish of elegant fabric.
The youngster counted to ten before he crept across the plush, ornate carpeting to rummage through the basket. Before you could say Manwë’s Mountain the parlor was deserted, the instructional book abandoned on the sofa, and one pair of sharp scissors was now missing from Lady Eärwen’s sewing kit.
/---/
Dinner was finally settled and by the time the Lady of the House made it back to the sitting room, her son was long gone, his reading left on the couch, teetering on the verge of falling to the floor. She sighed, picked up the book, returned it to its place on the shelf. She then went in search of her handsome husband. She had finished sewing for now and wanted to see what Finarfin was up to this afternoon. Perhaps they could take a walk or simply spend a little time alone together. She was sure that Aegnor was off at play with his brothers or Artanis and did not need checking on.
/---/
“Where is Aika*?” Little Artanis asked. “He is not here to dine,” the youngest of the family astutely pointed out.
Her brother always sat to her left and that chair was empty. She liked everyone in their place, and he could not pass the food that way if he was not there, now could he? They began to serve tonight’s meal of roast chicken and all assumed that the youngest son was washing up and would soon join them. And so he did, quite soon, as a matter of fact.
All conversation stopped as Aegnor entered the room, walking to his seat to sit down.
“Good evening, son.” Finarfin finally greeted his youngest boy, as though nothing untoward were evident.
“Hello, father. Pass the potatoes please, Arty.” And she did, though she could not help gawking at her elder brother.
“Don’t stare, darling. It is rude to look at another person that way.” Eärwen was careful not to look overlong herself but cast surreptitious glances at her youngest son, examining his now spiked, cut and butchered hair with concealed alarm. She kicked herself for leaving that sewing kit out in the living room.
Aegnor was quite pleased with the outcome of his late afternoon’s work in the bathroom. He had stood on the stepping stool with scissors in hand and cut his long, thick, always tangling hair well above the shoulders and now it was unique, unlike anyone else’s in Valinor or all of Arda for that matter. No other elf had hair like this, he thought, nor would they EVER. He did not look like anyone else. He was different. He beamed at his family as he ate his dinner.
Finrod, Orodreth and Angrod shoveled their food in showing no visible reaction, but they would be the first to defend their brother if anyone mocked him for his new hairstyle. No one would make fun of Aegnor, be they cousin or otherwise. His own brothers might tease, but that was perfectly acceptable behavior in a sibling. Amused glances passed between the three elder sons of Finarfin but they maintained their tacit silence. For now they would say nothing, but later, that was another story; a post-dinner mêlée was in order.
Artanis squirmed on her chair as she tried to contain herself. She wanted to burst out with questions and touch that hair. It was standing on end, straight out from her brother’s head and it looked as though Aegnor had made use of mother’s hair pomade to add to this effect. He had spent hours in front of the mirror to get it just so and thought it looked fiery and dashing. Each spike was purposefully placed and protruded sharply.
“Sit still, my dear. You are fidgeting.”
“I cannot help it, Mama!”
Aegnor could tell she wanted to touch it and so he said, “Arty+, go ahead. You can if you like.”
She reached over and tentatively touched the spiky ends with her fingertips.
“Oooo,” She giggled and did it again.
“I supposed it will grow back again,” Finarfin offered in comfort to his wife, who did not look at all happy.
“I don’t WANT it to grow back. I like it this way,” came the adamant response. Aegnor was resolved.
Both parents nodded and returned to their dinner.
/---/
Later that very same night, Aegnor was tucked safely in his bed, hair washed and slightly damp on his pillow. He awaited his goodnight kiss from his mother. This time their routine had changed and he had not endured the usual torturous combing session. This pleased him greatly.
“If you like, darling, I can even this out some at the ends.” Eärwen combed her fingers through the short, ragged locks, and admitted to herself that they did not tangle anymore.
“Sure, Mama.”
“Tomorrow then.”
“Thank you,” Aegnor yawned widely and promptly fell asleep as the Lady wondered what life had in store for her turbulent child.
/---/
Aegnor travelled to Middle Earth with his kin and became a warrior of great strength and prowess in the struggle against Morgoth. His reputation spread far and wide. Evil creatures feared him fleeing before his wrath when he went to war against them.
In battle, he possessed the aspect of fire, his hair added to that effect as he kept it cut to give the appearance of flames around his head. He wore no helm. He fought with the light of Aman burning in his eyes and when he struck he was like a fire bolt.
He was Aikanáro, the fell fire, the sharp flame.
--------
* Aika=nickname for Aikanáro=Aegnor’s mother name in Quenya, means “fell fire.”
+ Arty=nickname for Artanis=Galadriel’s father name in Quenya, means “noble woman.”