squirrelwrangler:

Just a little thing I had on my mind when I created the OCs for Ingwë and Indis’s parents. Means sense if you’ve read this.

Indis tells her mother the name she has chosen for her second daughter, Lalwendë the laughing maiden, in a soft voice as she holds the golden-haired infant to her breast. Finwë had given his name to both sons, her first daughter had been named for both of them, but beautiful Írimë Lalwendë can be free of the burdens of the ruling Noldor, carefree and bright and joyful. Indis’s mother Mahtamë smiles at the name, looks down at the peaceful infant, and agrees it is a fitting name, one Lalwendë will grow into.

“Her spirit reminds me of Alakô,” Mahtamë says. “He was always laughing as well.”

“Truly?” Indis asks. Her mother speaks rather of his father, who had died before Indis had been born, nor does Ingwë speak of him. Indis knows her father had awakened at the side of her mother at the shores of Cuiviénen, that he had been a swift hunter and well-liked, and that when he had been grievously injured in a hunt, the toll had been too great and he had chosen the release of death. As Míriel had chosen, which perhaps explains some of the silence on the subject.

“Oh yes,” Mahtamë says, and the faraway look of her eyes is light and pleasant. “Your father could never stop smiling, was always amused at something or another, even if it was just the feeling of the wind in his face. Never still, always drawing Ingwë and I into a jest or dance. Delighting in movement. The stillness of your brother, that reservedness, that was not your father. Alakô was always running. I am amazed your solemn brother came from him; you are far more like Alakô. Wishing that everyone around them are smiling. He would be pleased to see you, and pleased with our Lalwen.”

Mahtamë reaches with a hand to tickle the infant’s belly, causing her to giggle and kick. Indis joins in on the laughter, and hears the echo of a wind.