Title: Thorns
Prompt: 039. take these broken wings and learn to fly again, learn to live so free
Author's Notes: Gah, it's The Drabble That Wouldn't Stop. I never thought I was going to get to a point where I could end it, but I found one eventually. It's three pages long in my notebook, which is quite possibly the longest fic I've handwritten. This is dedicated to WargishBoromirFan as a celebration for her finishing the challenge.
As in my other fics and in Silmarillion canon, Turambar is Túrin and Níniel is Nienor. Níniel's speech comes from my reasoning that when learning to speak, nouns are generally the first thing children learn, especially concrete nouns, ie. things they can see such as 'tree', 'cat', 'chair'. After being taught the basics of conversation, people usually learn nouns first when learning a new language. And thus this fic was born.
And when health slowly returned to her (Níniel), and she walked and began to eat again, then as with a child the women of Brethil must teach her to speak, word by word. But in this learning she was quick and took great delight, as one that finds again treasures great and small that were mislaid…And when she was able to go out again, she would seek the house of Brandir; for she was most eager to learn the names of all living things, and he knew much of such matters; and they would walk together in the gardens and the glades.
– Unfinished Tales
It was a game that they played. They would go to the gardens around Amon Obel before the day grew too hot, where Brandir would sit and watch the plants in the early daylight. Sometimes Níniel sat beside him, but more often she would be dancing on the grass, running and spinning and twirling in bursts of unfettered energy like a child. Brandir smiled to see her run gleefully across the grass, as though the morning had taken human form.
Níniel enjoyed their games, delighting in words like the woodsmens' children. She had quickly learnt the names of the plants that grew near the Halethrims' houses, and Brandir had begun to teach her the names of the forest animals and the rarer trees and flowers. He decided that it was time to start when Níniel dropped onto the bench beside him, having twirled away her enery for the moment. Seeing her look at him expectantly, he said, 'Can you tell me five things that are in the sky?'
Brandir was impressed and slightly envious of the way Níniel sprang to her feet so easily. For a moment he thought wistfully of what it would be like to be strong and healthy again, and to dance beside her instead of watching impotently on the edge – but he dismissed the idea. Such thoughts were too dark for a morning spent with Níniel, Níniel who was now laughing as she spun with her face turned towards the sky. 'Well?' he asked.
'Sun, moon, star. Cloud.' Níniel halted for a moment, looking perplexed. Then, 'Bird!' she exclaimed.
'Well done,' said Brandir with a smile. 'Find me a leaf from three different trees, and tell me their names.' She returned with the leaves held carefully in her hand so as not to crush them, pointing to each as she said their names. 'Oak. Elm. Beech.'
'Yes, very good.' With the help of his cane, Brandir got to his feet. 'Come this way,' he said, 'I have something to show you.' Níniel offered her arm for him to lean on, walking slowly beside him although she could have run ahead. While touched by the support she gave without being asked, Brandir felt a little sad at making her walk so slowly because of him. Níniel should be allowed to run free, not forced to keep a plodding pace out of kindness or a sense of duty.
Their slow pace eventually took them to another glade, where wild roses grew among the trees. Carefully picking one, Brandir held it out for Níniel to smell. She smiled at the sweet scent and the softness of the petals. Eager and innocent, she grasped at another rose before drawing her hand back quickly with a sharp cry, staring at her fingers in dismay.
'Roses,' said Brandir gently, 'are beautiful, but their thorns are sharp.' He examined Níniel's hand and decided that there had been enough lessons for one day. They made their way back to Amon Obel, and Brandir picked the thorns from her hand. There were many, but none were very deep. While he worked, Níniel murmured 'roses, thorns, beautiful, sharp' to herself, making sure to remember the words.
Brandir had finished washing Níniel's hand when Turambar entered the house, walking between the beds as though searching for someone. 'I came to see Dorlas,' he said by way of explanation, although Brandir was sure that he knew that Dorlas had recovered enough from his illness to return to his own home. Níniel went to greet him, and Turambar smiled to see her but frowned at the cuts on her fingers. 'What happened?' he asked, taking her hand to look at it more closely. His eyes turned to Brandir suspiciously.
'Roses,' said Níniel dolefully.
Turambar laughed a little at that. 'Yes, roses can hurt, however,' his gaze lingered on her face, 'they are also beautiful.'
Brandir turned away. The rose that he had picked for Níniel now seemed like a garish blob in the room, its petals rotting from the core and its scent sickeningly sweet. He now preferred the harsh simplicity of the thorns, no matter how much pain they caused.
Afternote: Poor Dorlas, I had a cold while writing this and I've given it to him too. Sorry, Dorlas, one day I'll write something where you're completely healthy.