Riders in the Rain by Fiamma Galathon  

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Burning rain

Aredhel has a clogged nose and Norgalad makes some...assumptions.

Aredhel is miserable, but certainly not dying, Celegorm is having an anexiety attack in the background, and Norgalad thinks they both need to get their shit together, more or less.

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Aredhel felt like shit. 

Honestly. It was some sort of joke on Namo’s part, she had to surmise, because what the fuck. The moment things had started locking up she had to go and fall sick.

…It had probably a lot to do with the stress finally falling off of her. She had not realized how much strain sustaining Lómion on her own took on her until Celegorm started helping.

But the fact was, her head hurt, lungs tickled, throat burned and all bones felt like they were on fire. So, she felt like shit. It wasn’t dangerous, as far as she could tell, not like a true illness that took lives on the Ice, but it was still truly undignified.

Also Celegorm looked more and more harried with every sniffle and cough she made, nearly hovering, and his soldiers echoed his mood. She had forgotten how antsy the Feanorians could be. 

It was…kind of nice. It felt good to be cared about. He was less handsy than she remembered him being, and made an effort to always ask first, and it actually helped. 

Aredhel furrowed her brow, and sniffled. Lómion started crying again from his place in the carrier strapped to Celegorm, and she got the faint feel of him being antsy because it was too loud.

She should probably deal with that.

Ugh, but her head hurt. She idly realized her ears flattened themselves against her skull at the sound.

It was amazing how easily Lómion had started to actually behave like a baby once he determined Celegorm to be an additional source of comfort, and she was overjoyed he felt well enough to scream when he needed something, but by the Valar , was it not doing anything good to her headache.

Aredhel gathered her wits to go and deal with this before somebody took offense or she started crying too, but the wail quietened abruptly after a few sharp commands to the soldiers to be quieter and some murmured words from Celegorm to the baby.

Fuck, he was truly a godsend. 

She wanted to lie down in a warm bed with a warm blanket and a warm fireplace crackling merrily, have a cup of tea with honey, snuggle to her warm cousin and baby and fucking sleep for a week.

Scratch that, both her warm cousins. Curvo was significantly softer than Tyleko, at least around the middle. Would absolutely make for a good pillow.

The rain tinkled merrily on the armor of the infantry unit walking with them. It only pattered against her hood.

At least she had a nice, thick, soft waterproof cloak now. Even if it was red. And it was theoretically Tyleko’s. Aredhel could guess it smelled of him, for if she inhaled with her mouth open she could taste it on the back of her throat, but her nose was clogged.

She wished she could smell it. It was a comforting smell.

And not have her nose stuffed with mucus. Honestly. Her sinuses hurt like somebody pumped them full of some sort of scratchy water. Who invented colds?

Eru, probably. Although not, for it was said He loved His children. She would never wish this sort of annoying thing on her son.

No, Morgoth, the fucker. It seemed exactly like the petty, annoying thing he would do with his time.

Alas. She would not get her warm blanket and warm bed until they got to Aglon. 

Which was two days away.

She wanted to cry a bit at that thought. The mare lent to her was a sweetheart, truly, nothing like the foul-mouthed Netyaraccë of Celegorm’s, and her gait was smooth, and she was a lovely horse all around, but it was still two days of riding on a pack-horse without a proper saddle.

Celegorm had offered Netya, but Aredhel knew how much he loved all of his horses, and she didn’t want to separate them. And he needed his saddle, for technically they could get attacked. 

And Huan, as much as he had the patience of a saint, was not as comfortable a steed as a horse.

Her mare flicked an ear, making a concerned neigh. She patted her idly. -I know, girl, I know. Wet, uncomfy and far from home.- 

The mare huffed in commiseration.

The rain pattered around them, drowning out other sounds, muffling them strangely. 

Aredhel straightened, and took a breath, just deep enough not to send her careening into another fit of coughing. 

She could survive another two days without proper bed. She had made it through far worse things.

It didn’t mean she had to like it.

******

Norgalad rubbed his brow, a bowl of soup balanced on his knee, and sighed deeply at his Lord.

His Lord, who was having the jitters because the Lady of the White Tower had a cough. Truly. At least the baby was less fussy than they had all thought, crying only when they got too rowdy or it was time to change diapers. But Valar . Lord Celegorm fussing worse than a babe not weaned yet. That was decidedly not in his betting pool. 

That the Lord would be so…panicky…over the health of someone was unheard of. And the Lady was tough, to be true, so Norgalad could only be more baffled. She didn’t appear much strained from the road, if only for the subtle tightness around her eyes and the glaze in them, brought by a cold.

But Lord Celegorm looked halfway to a kinslaying every time she as much as breathed with a audible wheeze. Norgalad frowned. No. Halfway to panic, more so. Or maybe to both. It was mildly amusing to watch him toe the thin line between concerned and overbearing over both the baby and Lady Aredhel, but also kind of terrifying.

He did not envy anyone who thought to cross them anytime soon. 

The fucking Hound was looking at them like they could break too. What the fuck, actually, was that, he wondered. That a Hound could look concerned, all right, he could see, but to look actually heartbroken that he couldn’t hold the babe? 

Norgalad took a sip out of his soup, watching Lord Celegorm do breathing exercises leaning against the side of his dog, ears pinned back, fingers flying through the air in quick movements to dispel energy. The rain that fell onto his cloak hissed and streamed back into the air, enveloping the Lord in a thin layer of mist, and he cast a small circle of light around himself.

The captain took another sip. Truly. Lady Aredhel just retired earlier for the night, citing a killer headache, and took the babe with her, as was her due. This was not necessarily cause enough for a panic attack. 

Unless the Lord knew something he did not, which was mildly likely. Only mildly, though, for Norgalad had obediently walked beside the Lady’s horse for the whole day, and she chatted normally with him. 

She seemed to have a common cold, possibly stress-induced. Eru knows his own wife always got them after a birth. Lord Celegorm was just paranoid. 

New fathers were usually paranoid. Especially new fathers who had a muddy history.

Norgalad wasn’t blind, and the child was…to say remarkably similar to the Lord would be to lie, but similar enough in coloring and ear-shape that it would be plausible. 

And the Lord behaved…honestly. No, why was he even doubting it. It was his child fair and square.

Which could explain the anxiety. He remembered himself right after his first daughter was born, and oh, Eleberth, had he been paranoid.

Norgalad took another sip, and a bite out of his lembas. Lord Celegorm slowly stopped glowing, but the rain still evaporated when it touched him.

He would probably calm down fully only when they finally got to Ost Aglon. Hopefully. 

The captain blinked. Did Lord Celegorm need someone to explain to him how babies worked, or…?

No, no, probably not. Lord Curufin had a son, didn't he?

Shrugging, Norgalad finished his soup. Good. At least he didn’t need to explain diapers to his superior.

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Chapter End Notes

I hope you enjoyed!