Sweeten

Canon-compliant.  Eöl is not naturally a nice man, but he has a sweet side buried underneath.  And Aredhel knows just how to uncover it.  Quenya name used for Aredhel (Írissë).  This is connected with "Wrong", but is not a sequel or continuation, just a blurb of thought.  To back up my head-canon of the pairing.  Because, don't get me wrong, I don't tend to think of Eöl as being a true gentlemanly sweetheart, but I think he's got a soft side somewhere in there.  I'll have to explore his psyche more in the future.  Takes place in Nan Elmoth in the First Age (pre-Maeglin).

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: Eöl x Aredhel

Characters: Aredhel, Eöl (don't even think anyone else is mentioned here, but I could have missed someone--Turgon, Anairë, maybe Fingolfin?)

Warning: canon-compliant, mostly just fluff, surprising lack of sexual content, kissing

Song: Song of the Ancients - Devola

Words: 952
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sweeten (verb): to make sweet; to soften the mood or attitude of; to make less painful or trying
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sweeten

It did not take long for Írissë to learn that her husband was, generally speaking, a bitter and ill-tempered man.  He was prickly and kept quietly to himself when given the chance, preferring the loneliness of smoke and fire to a gentle evening of talking or a session of cuddling.  Such things were simply not in his personality or nature.

But for all his bitterness, even the temperamental, uncooperative craftsman had weaknesses, little soft spots to be exploited when he least expected.

And it did not take Írissë long to discover them.  One by one.

It did not take her long to discover that carding her hands through his hair, scraping her nails ever so softly across his scalp, left him nearly purring in contentment.  For hours, he would sit still at her feet or in their bed, dark lashes fluttering on his cheeks as she stroked, his harried schedule and long list of tasks to be completed left floundering in the wake of simple pleasures.

She learned all too quickly that, while most sweets did not appeal to his palate in the least, fresh blueberry muffins would draw him away even from his valued experimental work in the forge.  It was almost adorable, how his head would appear in the doorway to the kitchen, peering shyly around the frame to take in the sight of the golden delights set out to cool on the table, how his eyes would be so soft and wide, almost childish in anticipation and mischief.

How he would sneak a few when she turned her back without bothering to take off his dirty, sooty gloves and hide them in his apron pockets to tide him over in the long stretch of evening into night.  Írissë found that she did not mind cleaning the crumbs or blueberry stains out of the garment later.

And if she remembered even a droplet of his complex explanations and ratios in the art of metallurgy, she could prompt him to speak and spend hours sitting in his lap with her head on his shoulder, his heartbeat firm to her hand and his low, rumbling voice soothing her into a doze as he went on and on about his latest experiments with composition and shaping.  She thought he was just happy to have someone listening after leaving the busy halls of Menegroth and the home of his kin of blood to live alone in the darkness of Nan Elmoth.

Truly, he wasn't as bad as first impressions might suggest. 

Perhaps he was burly and sometimes rather rude--goodness only knew the number of times she had flushed in shock at his language!--but there was a sweetheart hiding under that tough skin who only dared show his face on the rare occasion when he thought she wasn't looking.  But she was. 

Írissë knew she did not imagine the soft touch of callused fingertips skimming over her bare, pale flesh as though it were the most delicate glass, the most precious of treasures to be admired and worshipped.  She knew that, when he finally whispered little words of love into her ear, he believed her to be fast asleep, that perhaps the words would reach her in dreams for he could not bring himself to speak them in their waking hours.

And yes, sometimes he was frightening in the midst of a spitting rage--they had lost more than one piece of furniture or glassware to his tantrums--but if she wrapped her arms about him from behind, held him tight against her and rocked him along with her as she laid her head on his tense shoulders, she would feel all the knots and strain seep slowly out of those trembling muscles.  Until he breathed a deep sigh of relief and mumbled out a tiny apology with a quavering voice and downcast eyes.

Never mind the times he would blush at something so innocent as a kiss to the cheek or a soft-spoken thank-you when an entire seduction had not so much as tinged his cheeks.  Never mind when Írissë reached out and grasped his hand as young lovers did in Tirion, and he looked away as if pretending not to take note but squeezed back just to see her smile.

So he wasn't perfect.  He wasn't a standard gentleman born and bred for the high courts of civilization.  He was loud and spoke like a commoner.  He spent all day working in the forge and returned sweaty and sooty, tracking mud over the rug and the floor.  He had a definite tendency towards sniping and sarcasm and scowling faces.  And she didn't even know where to begin to broach the subject of his past.

But underneath the crusty, bitter outer skin was a fruit just as sweet and supple as any peach, all rosy and sultry perfection on the tip of one's tongue.  One just needed to know how to peel away that skin to reveal the bashfulness and beauty beneath.

And though it never would be paradise, this world that they shared, Írissë was content, was happier than she had ever been as a prisoner of her brother's court, dancing like a puppet on her strings, a good, empty-headed woman with no future but a houseful of children and a few hundred poorly-made tapestries on the walls.  No, that life had never been made for Írissë Anairiel.

And she had her bitter prince and just the correct amount of sugar to sweeten the mixture of their life--stubbornness, willfulness and wildness tempered with chaste kisses and whispered words in the silence.
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Love this pairing so much.  I understand that people hate because of Eöl trying to kill Maeglin (and I'll have to explore that sometime later--I should put together a pre-Aredhel arc for Eöl to try and figure him out, which means research.  Oh well, it'll be fun <3), but I wish there wasn't so much hating (and so much Celegorm x Aredhel... seriously).  Nevertheless, just poking and prodding.

Listening to Song of the Ancients - Devola from Nier Gestault and Replicant (credited to Keiichi Okabe and others).  I actually used a different version of this song for "Edge" a couple of weeks back, but that one is more upbeat and less sweet and gentle.  Technically, they're different songs, so I thought it would be okay (because, honestly, they don't even sound like the same song if you listen to them--completely different flavors).  And it worked with this prompt and this pairing.  So there.

Now, I must go.  This would have been done earlier, but my power's been out half the day (died halfway through writing *sigh*).  Enjoy.