"Him I have only had for seven years, though I hope to find a colt or two among this year's crop to begin training properly." Asfaloth snuffles at Nerdanel's hair, then begins nudging at his master in hopes of treats.
"I have no objection, and I know he most certainly does not. You will win his heart entire." Glorfindel laughs, pushing his stallion's questing muzzle away. "I only hope this lad's successor is as even-tempered as he is - the one before him was an ill-mannered brute that had to be mercied down before he did some innocent harm."
Nerdanel produces the slices of tart apple, cooing and laughing as she feeds them to Asfaloth. She had not grown up around horses, as her father is a smith, and she married a smith, so horses? Not so much with her family. All her sons had owned one each, but they had cared for them and she had other things to worry about.
And horses were not among them.
"I hope you will teach Feaho to ride. He deserves to be around horses as his brothers were."
"I shall bring him his first pony, when he is old enough to sit in the saddle unaided." While the Sindarians and the Green Elves might be able to ride without saddle or bridle, Glorfindel is Noldori and Vanyar, neither of which are given natural affinity to horses. Since the child would have Noldori for his elven heritage, it stands to reason he will not be charging about bareback any time soon.
Besides.
Saddles and bridles and reins mean one can add gems and silver bells and such.
"He will love horses," she predicts as she scritches the horse's muzzle. "A white one. With warm eyes." Nerdanel shakes herself from her little vision of her son, and grins at Glorfindel.
"So certain? But you are biased by this beauty here. You should see the roans and bays and blacks of Rohan, and the greys of Dol Amroth, before making any such decision." He laughs, scratching along the base of Asfaloth's mane.
"He also thinks the child will look like him." She smirks. "He will be in for a surprise. A child is a mixture of mother and father, though he doesn't seem to realize that."
"I do dearly hope he inherits your hair." He announces, idly. Partially this feeling is because he loves the color, the uniqueness of it.
The other reason is he would love to know another red-haired elf that he does not either feel uncomfortably awkward with, as he does Nerdanel's father, or an uneasy wariness towards, as he does her sons with Feanor.
Nerdanel earns a puzzled, worried frown, and he steps forward quickly to catch her arm to keep her from falling. "Cousin?" He asks, eyeing her with concern. Asfaloth whinnies imperilously at this sudden loss of attention.
"Something isn't right," she pants, more out of fear than pain. "It feels... it feels like the cramps I experienced just before my labour with the twins."
He does not let her go, instead wrapping an arm around her waist to support her. "Come, there is room to sit down over here. It is still some months until he is due, correct?" His tone is suddenly very calm, giving lie to the spike of fear he feels. He told Lord Mandos there was something wrong!
"Three more," she agrees as she sits, rubbing at her belly. She takes some breaths, a few minutes passing where there is no contraction, then she makes an odd sound as she feels another of the pains. "But, Glorfindel... I think I am in labour!"
Instead of answering, he stands and whistles sharply, an odd fluttering whistle that sounds something like birdsong. A few moments later, farther off, something or someone whistles back, and he nods in satisfaction. "Your son will not come today, Nerdanel. Not if there is any strength left in Imladris. The twins will be here soon." He assures her, confidently, kneeling at her side. With one hand he holds one of hers. The other he gently rests on her belly, his gaze gone abstracted, as if he were focusing on something other than what is right in front of him.
She feels tears prick in her eyes as she waits for the next contraction. She expects the next one to come sooner, with more strength, but when it does, the pain is just about the same as the previous one, and just as far apart.
"This isn't right," she murmurs. "It doesn't feel right, cousin."
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"I wish I could ride. Maybe after Feaho is born. Can I give him the apple pieces I snatched from breakfast?" she asks, practically boucing.
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And horses were not among them.
"I hope you will teach Feaho to ride. He deserves to be around horses as his brothers were."
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Besides.
Saddles and bridles and reins mean one can add gems and silver bells and such.
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"He will love horses," she predicts as she scritches the horse's muzzle. "A white one. With warm eyes." Nerdanel shakes herself from her little vision of her son, and grins at Glorfindel.
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She just Knows this.
"He also thinks the child will look like him." She smirks. "He will be in for a surprise. A child is a mixture of mother and father, though he doesn't seem to realize that."
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The other reason is he would love to know another red-haired elf that he does not either feel uncomfortably awkward with, as he does Nerdanel's father, or an uneasy wariness towards, as he does her sons with Feanor.
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She stops, her eyes widening a little as her hands fly to her belly.
"Oh," she breathes, looking from her stomach to her cousin. "Glorfindel..." She winces again, staggering back a little.
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"Cousin?" He asks, eyeing her with concern. Asfaloth whinnies imperilously at this sudden loss of attention.
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"Something isn't right," she pants, more out of fear than pain. "It feels... it feels like the cramps I experienced just before my labour with the twins."
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"Come, there is room to sit down over here. It is still some months until he is due, correct?" His tone is suddenly very calm, giving lie to the spike of fear he feels. He told Lord Mandos there was something wrong!
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Which was not right! It was too soon!
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"Your son will not come today, Nerdanel. Not if there is any strength left in Imladris. The twins will be here soon." He assures her, confidently, kneeling at her side. With one hand he holds one of hers. The other he gently rests on her belly, his gaze gone abstracted, as if he were focusing on something other than what is right in front of him.
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"This isn't right," she murmurs. "It doesn't feel right, cousin."
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