First Flowers, by Himring
Feb. 10th, 2021 11:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hhimring posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tolkienshortfanworksAuthor: Himring
Title: First Flowers
Characters: Idril, Annael
Pairing: N/A
Text type / Format: ficlet
Source / Fandom: Silmarillion
Rating: G
Warnings: allusion to canonical character death (Elenwe)
Word Count: 320
Summary: In the early days, just after Fingolfin and his people arrive in Mithrim, Idril finds a flower and decides to consult someone who might know it.
Author notes: For the February prompt "First Flowers"
‘What is this?’, Idril asked Annael, holding out the flower.
He was there to speak with her grandfather about important matters, of course, but Idril had latched on to him as a great fount of local knowledge and he had shown no sign yet of tiring of her questions. Sometimes he seemed almost relieved, even, as if her questions were easier to answer than those of others.
But this time he said: ‘I do not know.’
Idril had believed that Annael knew everything that grew in Mithrim. She had plucked the flower from among a cluster of others where it grew scattered among the bracken on the northern slope of a hill. Surely, it could not be so rare?
‘It must be one of the new ones that came up with the first rising of the Sun,’ Annael explained. ‘Where did you find it?’
This plant was so new? Idril was impressed, although to her all of Middle-earth was new.
‘If you are the first to find it, it has no name yet and you could give it a name,’ Annael suggested. ‘What would you like to call it?’
Idril looked at the flower afresh with new eyes. Now it was no longer a plant to find out about, but a plant to name. She was struck, as she had not been before, how very white its petals were, gleaming almost like ice and snow—suddenly, she was not sure she wanted to go on holding this flower, let alone name it.
No. The Ice was behind them, far behind them, and the snow had melted beneath their feet as the Sun rose and flowers had sprung up. The blossom of this flower, too, looked as if it was melting, almost, as if a drop had formed and was about to fall. Like a white tear.
No, no tears.
‘Snowdrop,’ said Idril, firmly. ‘I think it should be called Snowdrop.’
Title: First Flowers
Characters: Idril, Annael
Pairing: N/A
Text type / Format: ficlet
Source / Fandom: Silmarillion
Rating: G
Warnings: allusion to canonical character death (Elenwe)
Word Count: 320
Summary: In the early days, just after Fingolfin and his people arrive in Mithrim, Idril finds a flower and decides to consult someone who might know it.
Author notes: For the February prompt "First Flowers"
‘What is this?’, Idril asked Annael, holding out the flower.
He was there to speak with her grandfather about important matters, of course, but Idril had latched on to him as a great fount of local knowledge and he had shown no sign yet of tiring of her questions. Sometimes he seemed almost relieved, even, as if her questions were easier to answer than those of others.
But this time he said: ‘I do not know.’
Idril had believed that Annael knew everything that grew in Mithrim. She had plucked the flower from among a cluster of others where it grew scattered among the bracken on the northern slope of a hill. Surely, it could not be so rare?
‘It must be one of the new ones that came up with the first rising of the Sun,’ Annael explained. ‘Where did you find it?’
This plant was so new? Idril was impressed, although to her all of Middle-earth was new.
‘If you are the first to find it, it has no name yet and you could give it a name,’ Annael suggested. ‘What would you like to call it?’
Idril looked at the flower afresh with new eyes. Now it was no longer a plant to find out about, but a plant to name. She was struck, as she had not been before, how very white its petals were, gleaming almost like ice and snow—suddenly, she was not sure she wanted to go on holding this flower, let alone name it.
No. The Ice was behind them, far behind them, and the snow had melted beneath their feet as the Sun rose and flowers had sprung up. The blossom of this flower, too, looked as if it was melting, almost, as if a drop had formed and was about to fall. Like a white tear.
No, no tears.
‘Snowdrop,’ said Idril, firmly. ‘I think it should be called Snowdrop.’
