The Love of Their Mothers by Rocky41_7

The Love of Their Mothers

Spring had not yet given way to summer and continued to breathe a hint of chill into the breeze that swept over them, even as the sunlight beaming down on the back porch was warm enough that the wind felt pleasant. It stirred the hangings about the trellises, billowing the white and blue fabric out around the posts and made the newly-sprouted leaves on the trees and bushes whisper amongst themselves. A few fat bees ambled about overhead, sampling the flowers, and a silver-green dragonfly was perched across the table from the two Elves on the couch.

            Eärwen leaned back in her seat, resting an elbow against the back of it, and propped one foot up on the empty seat on the adjoining bench. She tilted her face back to bask in the sun and the wind, and her feet thanked her for the rest.

            She could hear the sound of Anairë refilling her glass, and if she strained, faint noise from the street beyond the other side of the property.

            “I think they always worry most with the first one,” she opined into the quiet without moving. Anairë’s silence, as usual, invited her to speak further. “Arakáno seems to fret less with you this time.”

            “Has Ingoldo been at it with you?” Anairë asked, resettling herself onto the cushioned bench.

            “Oh, no, but I can feel his anxiety. He keeps it well to himself, but I know him.”

            “It’s likely so,” Anairë agreed. “Once he sees you’ll not perish of a birth, he’ll be more at ease.” They were both silent and then Eärwen spoke again, her lips twitching.

            “Though I think we two are quite fortunate by comparison with our dear sister-in-law.” Anairë must have been partway through a sip of lemon water, for Eärwen heard the sound of her choking abruptly and peeked one eye open.

            “Of that I am certain,” she said. “I think only the greatest love could have granted Nerdanel such patience!” Eärwen’s smile widened across her face.

            “It was sweet,” she said, opening her eyes and leaning forward to pinch a sticky slice of peach from the tray on the table. “Feanáro cares a great deal for her.” It was, in Eärwen’s view, one of his more redeeming qualities.

            “I think she would have camped on our couch if it would not have set Feanáro out looking for her,” Anairë said. “I have never seen her so much before or after she was carrying Maitimo.”

            Overhead, the flowers of the creeping vines swayed and Eärwen could catch the first traces of perfume as the jasmine began to bloom.

            “Was she truly so bothered?” Eärwen asked. “I should think it rather touching, to have a person so concerned with one’s well-being. Of course, it is also that Feanáro is a great deal more—shall we say—focused than Ingoldo…”

            “You know how independent Nerdanel is,” Anairë said with a slight shrug. That day she was dressed in pale green and white, and the gauzy fabric of the sleeves bared her dark shoulders to the gentle sunlight. “And yet as I recall she never did manage to bring herself to snap at Feanáro for all his fussing.”

            “Ah, but that is small wonder, given the circumstances…” The story of Fëanor’s mother had cast a pall over all the Noldor, and though his half-siblings carried none of her blood, Eärwen did not doubt that the fate of Miriel Serinde murmured in the minds of Fingolfin and Finarfin as well, when they looked upon their expectant brides, and surfaced in the imaginations of Findis and Irimë when they considered children of their own. For this, she would forgive a great deal more anxiety from Finarfin.

            Anairë read something else into Eärwen’s pause. Her voice grew softer and Eärwen could hear the weight of care in it.

“Do you think still of Miriel?”

            “I do,” Eärwen confessed after a thoughtful pause, tracing her fingers in an idle circle around her belly. “Not so much now. But sometimes. Still, I—it doesn’t feel…bad? I like carrying this one.” A wispy smile passed over her face and she flattened her palm against her belly. “This one feels…it feels not as a drain on my strength. Perhaps it is too early to tell—perhaps it is not until the birthing that one knows. But sometimes—sometimes I feel that I can feel this one’s little fëa, reaching out to mine.” The tenderness in her eyes surpassed description; she leaned back in her seat and looked as though she held the babe in her arms already.

            “You may,” Anairë replied, an answering smile to her friend’s new experience spreading across her face. “I felt so with Findekáno in the last year.” She rested a hand over her own stomach.

            “I would have hoped we could have had our firsts together!” Eärwen sighed. “Ah, but this will do, too.” She leaned over and put her hand over Anairë’s belly, feeling for a sign from the child within. “Still quiet, hm? How lucky you are! This one keeps me up sometimes, twisting about like they cannot wait to be out in the world…”

            “Let us remember Findekáno,” Anairë pointed out dryly. Eärwen laughed.

            “Fair enough, sister mine. You have earned a quiet child!” She smiled up at Anairë. “Shall they be friends, you think? Your babe and mine? Perhaps their mothers’ love shall bear on their hearts as well.”

            “I should hope it greatly,” Anairë said, with that characteristic seriousness of bearing she wore.

            “I believe it quite possible mine may talk enough to make up for yours!” Eärwen said with a quiet laugh. She rubbed a little circle on Anairë’s belly, as though to assure the unborn Elfling that their auntie was there as well, and in much anticipation for their safe arrival. “Yes, I believe they will be great friends,” she said softly, as if to speak a thing into being. “We carried them together and we will bear them soon after one another…their fëar will understand each other and so it will be as though mine has a sibling of their own.” She was no longer sure if she spoke in hope or certainty.

            There was a chill then that came over her, a shadow that passed over her words, and she glanced up at the sky, but it remained unchanged: mainly blue, its clouds a puffy white, and the sun still shining. A bird hopped about on the trellis overhead.

            “Yes, they will be friends,” she murmured. “And great shall be their care for one another.” But then—the shadow? Portending what? Eärwen tried to brush it off, but her frown deepened.

            “Does the cold trouble you?” Anairë asked. “Would you prefer to retire inside?”

            “No, no, it was only a breeze,” Eärwen said, shaking her head. “Certainly nothing to fret about…I only, for a moment—” She trailed off.

            “Did you feel something?” Anairë asked.

            “Just a shiver,” Eärwen said. “It must have been our talk of Miriel. It would be a terrible grief to me not to see our children forge their friendship.”

            “You will,” Anairë assured her, reaching for Eärwen’s hand. “Let the shadow of death pass away from the Noldor. Let us be merry; let us have life.” Eärwen smiled tentatively and squeezed Anairë’s hand.

            “Yes indeed,” she said. “Life there is here in Valinor, and life we shall have! What joy, in the shadow of Taniquetil!” She reached for her glass and took a long sip. “Now tell me again, sister dear, what you and Arakáno are considering to call this child…perhaps we may yet find a pair of names for them…”