#OC: Eleniquë

[yellow-faerie]

#22 with gil-galad son of curufinrod? with either curufin or finrod your choice! :)

You know I was just thinking about this au when you sent this ask? I love writing it so thank you for sending it in!

Send me a prompt from this list.

22 - "I could never hate you. Not truly."

Gil-Galad has been reborn for a long time when word reaches him, in the far flung lighthouse in which he took up residence, that his father had been reborn as well.

Not Finrod, for he had left Mandos' halls before Gil-Galad had even died and often sailed up the coast to see him with mothers and little half siblings and occasionally other family whenever he could.

No, not Finrod.

It is in his brother's most recent letter that Celebrimbor tells Gil-Galad that Curufin had left Mandos' halls for the land of the living and had been living quietly in their grandmother's house for the time being.

It's not public knowledge yet, Celebrimbor had written, and I do not think he knows that I know. I am only aware for Nibenaes is always away of the comings and goings of all the House from how close she is with great-grandmother Míriel.

So Gil-Galad hadn't been expecting anything, especially not as the months turned ever on and there was neither sight nor sound of his father.

Tindómiel and he are cleaning out the great fire pit while the sun is high and boats don't need their direction when there's an angry shout downstairs, something slamming and then silence.

"Finellach!" Eleniquë calls, her voice slightly strained. "Get down here, your father's at the door!"

Tindómiel shares his confusion. "Finrod visited just three weeks ago, I thought he would be in the Valmar by now."

"I guess something must have happened." Gil-Galad rubs his hands on the front of his apron and goes to the ladder. "You'll be OK finishing up on your own?"

"Shouldn't take too long - although ask if Helcaear wouldn't mind helping me moving the logs up here. Give cousin Finrod my love."

The first sign that something is wrong is the complete lack of conversation. Something about Finrod was that he could talk his way into the hearts of literally anyone, and regularly did it - in fact, he'd been up to visit so much that even Helcaear enjoyed conversation with him.

The second and third signs appear at nearly the same time; as Gil-Galad looks around, he sees the downright murderous expression on Helcaear's face and the weirdly adoring one on Eleniquë's.

Gil-Galad scrunches his face in confusion as he untangles his feet from the rug at the bottom of the ladder and turns around.

"Atya, aren't you meant to be visiting your grandmother-"

It all starts to make sense when it's not Finrod standing there.

Curufin still stands tall, his grey eyes still as hard as flint, but there's a certain unsurety to his posture that makes it seem very likely that he might run out the still open front door at any moment.

He doesn't look at Eleniquë who had once worked as a foot soldier for him, nor at Helcaear who's home he once helped destroy.

He just looks at Gil-Galad as if he couldn't believe that he was standing right there.

"My mother's depiction does not do justice to the ellon you have grown into," Curufin says eventually, breaking the silence.

Helcaear makes a sound and Gil-Galad is distinctly aware that he should probably do something lest a fight starts in the front hall.

"Tindómiel needs help with the logs," he says to his coworkers, keeping his expression painfully neutral. "We'll be in the kitchen if you need me."

He turns on his heel, hoping that Curufin is following him but unable to turn around and look. He can feel the burning gazes of both Helcaear and Eleniquë on his back, and he's already thinking of how he's going to respond to their questions later.

How to explain that he's a part of the infamous House of Fëanor, to admit to being the High King Gil-Galad, to explain his childhood to them and every complicated feeling he holds for his family deep in his heart.

Running away - running here - hadn't worked the first time.

"Would you like some tea?" Gil-Galad asks as he closes the heavy kitchen door behind them, just in case there are any eavesdroppers on the other side.

He's still keeping his face in that trained neutrality, the expression he practised endlessly as king.

"No. Thank you."

Gil-Galad wants some tea though. He leaves Curufin standing awkwardly near the door to boil the kettle and find his favourite mug and the best tea and is slow as he stirs honey in.

It's only then that he turns around, feeling in control again.

Looking once more at Curufin leaves that control in shreds. It makes him feel like a small child who's found his way under his sharp judgement yet again.

"Why are you here?" Gil-Galad asks, more accusatory than he had intended to ask it.

He clenches his hands tighter around his mug and they burn.

"I met with your father a fortnight ago," Curufin says and Gil-Galad can hear the careful way he's stepping around his words. "He told me I should come see you."

"You are here at Atya's request?"

That honestly makes sense when Gil-Galad thinks about it but it leaves him feeling weirdly disappointed.

"No," Curufin says, shaking his head, "I am here because you deserve an apology, even though you undoubtedly hate me."

Curufin pauses, as if waiting for Gil-Galad to say something, but he waits in vain as Gil-Galad takes another sip of tea.

"You and Celebrimbor - neither of you deserved to have your family torn apart because of your parents' actions."

"Your actions," Gil-Galad corrects, perhaps a little harshly for - by his own admission - Finrod took up some of the blame for how their years in Nargothrond ended.

"My actions," Curufin agrees a little too readily. "I have made a lot of mistakes in my life - swearing the Oath, killing in it's name - but you and your brother are most definitely not among them."

Gil-Galad's mouth tastes like ash. "If you try to claim that leaving us in Nargothrond was to protect us," he starts, his voice a little shaky, "I shall remind you that we both nearly died in the ransacking."

"I was never going to," Curufin says vehemently and Gil-Galad finds that he believes him. "It was cowardly, thinking I could leave you there so that you would be free."

"Celebrimbor and Finduilas are the reason I was ever free from you," Gil-Galad says, remembering the way the two of them had managed to manipulate Nargothrond gossip to removing mention of Curufin from his parentage. "You just left and made it easier."

"Celebrimbor told me."

Gil-Galad takes a sip of his tea, revelling in the way it burns his tongue and stops him from getting lost in the melancholy of his childhood.

"I never forgot, not once," Gil-Galad tells him plainly. "I used to ask Celebrimbor to tell me stories about you and Atya and my uncles, and he hated doing it but he still did it."

For once in his life, Curufin doesn't seem to have anything to say. Maybe that was his whole apology.

There's this memory, that Gil-Galad has, of hiding behind Celebrimbor's legs as his father and his uncle rally the people of Nargothrond behind them and his father had had so many words then.

Maybe it was because he wasn't baring his whole soul back then.

Maybe it was easier for him to talk a whole people into a frenzy than it was for him to have an honest conversation with his son.

A moment passes where they just stare at each other, and then another.

"I should go," Curufin says and turns to the door.

And that's the thing that gets Gil-Galad the most.

"Again?" He asks, ignoring the lump in his throat and the hitch in his voice and the heat welling at the back of his eyes. "You're going to just up and leave again? You can't even give me an address or-or anything?"

Curufin turns around and looks - Gil-Galad laughs despite himself - terrified, all because Gil-Galad is crying now, in that ugly way that will have his face all red and blotchy and his nose bunged up.

"You just...you come and you go and you never make a fucking effort."

Curufin is frozen, the hand that was on the door handle falling to his side.

"What do you want me to do?" He asks, soft and tentative.

Eru above, there is so much that Gil-Galad would want him to do.

"Right now?" He says, putting his mug down lest his shaking hands pour it all down his front. "I would like a hug."

Curufin is still shitty at hugs. He's all awkward corners and edges that don't quite fold into something comforting, and yet...

Gil-Galad buries his face into the coarse fabric of Curufin's travelling shirt and starts crying even harder.

There's another memory Gil-Galad has.

It's dark, the lights in his room all off but the one by his light dimmed to almost darkness. His father sits on the edge of his bed and he's running his hand through Gil-Galad soft curls.

Gil-Galad is somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and he never quite worked out if Curufin really pressed a kiss to his forehead before he left or if the grief of finding out the next morning that his remaining father had left as well had conjoured the memory in his head.

He doesn't know.

All the time in his childhood that he had known Curufin, he hadn't done gentle affection. If Gil-Galad ever wanted a hug and comfort, he ran to Finrod or Celebrimbor or Finduilas or even his uncle Tyelko.

When he scraped his knee, Finrod would kiss it better but Curufin would wrap it carefully in a bandage and tell him to be more careful next time.

Curufin distracted him when he was sad rather than talking it through, he was painfully practical where Finrod nurtured and smiled and was full of silly metaphors.

Gil-Galad sometimes wonders what attracted the two of them together.

But this hug, the first one since Gil-Galad must have been really small, reminds him that Curufin is still that painfully practical elf. The apology is so him, so stupidly perfect and planned that it makes Gil-Galad want to scream.

"Your apology was based on a false assumption," he says, sniffing and still hiding his face in Curufin's shoulder. "I could never hate you. Not truly."

"Really?" Curufin sounds genuinely incredulous.

Gil-Galad sniffs again and pulls away to rub his nose with the back of his sleeve. "I missed you and I was angry and you have done some really shitty things but I never hated you."

Elrond - one of the few people who knew his actual parentage - had asked him that once, during his continuing angsting over the Maglor Situation (as it had been deemed).

Gil-Galad had told him that whenever he tried, all he could think of was his calloused hands tying a bandage around his knee or the random information that attached itself to the stupid problems little children have or the softness of a kiss to the forehead.

Maybe he was too young when Curufin left to have grown to hate him, and too old to not have fond memories, and the two had mingled together until he had this idea of a father.

Maybe if he forgives Curufin for leaving and for breaking up their family so dramatically, he will find that the man is actually insufferable and grow to hate him.

That, Gil-Galad thinks, is worth the risk.

"Would you like some tea now?" He asks, going to put the kettle back on.

Curufin accepts the tea but declines the offer of a bed for the night - likely wise, considering that Helcaear would probably try and kill him - citing that he left Huan and Celegorm out in the snow somewhere and that they would be returning to civilisation together.

"He probably wouldn't even notice if I left him out there," Curufin says, significantly less tense as Gil-Galad leads him to the door than when he had been let in. "But I would rather not lose him."

"Is that likely to happen?"

Curufin shrugs, making it look remarkably eloquent even in rough travel clothes. "He gets bored very easily."

"Alright then, I'll see you in a few months?"

"I'll send you a letter when Nelyo and Ammë decide on a date." Curufin rolls his eyes. "It's a yearly debate with how many people you have to organise."

Gil-Galad smiles. "Will Atya be there?"

"He might turn up. You should ask him yourself."

Gil-Galad nods, putting that on his mental list of things to do. He opens the door, waves his father away and then he's alone again.

"Is he gone?"

"Fuck," Gil-Galad exclaims, almost falling against the wall. "Tindómiel, don't sneak up on someone like that."

"Sorry," Tindómiel says, not looking very apologetic. "I came down to ask if you wanted any of the roasted hazelnuts Helcaear is making." She lowers her voice theatrically. "If I was you, I'd say yes. He's been pissy all afternoon that we brought a kinslayer into the house."

"He's not going to let it go, is he?"

"Better find yourself a good apology Fin."

[yellow-faerie]

Could you please do prompt 46 or 50 for platonic aroace tindómiel (chose elves)/alloroace gil-galad? Either prompt is fine, but more fluff than angst, please.

Thanks!

Ooh yes! This is a really interesting prompt particularly as I love Elven Tindómiel and also the idea of her being Aroace is something I really like the idea of!

(Also I'm using prompt #46 because I'm obnoxious and am going to put in my headcanons for constellation stories at any opportunity)

From this prompt list.

46 - "Did I ever tell you the story of that constellation?"

Tindómiel was a lighthouse keeper on Númenor and when she sailed to Valinor, she took a job to help the string of lighthouses along the coast.

Tindómiel is at peace by the sea and she likes to be alone: it is her perfect job, really.

She sleeps when the sun is up and wakes with the stars, setting a light in her tower and settling in for a night of reading or mending or, occasionally, waving at a boat coming in.

It is rare that anyone sails so far north up the coast as to see her tower but she is here all the same. It's preparation for a time in the future when Valinor may not be as safe as it is now and her lighthouse may become a ward against the Dark things in this world.

So she waits.

Her soul is immortal by her Choice. It was not a conscious choice but as she found her friends and family succumbing to mortality, she lingered on in her place at the coast until she found her own boat to the holy shores of Valinor.

She is immortal and so she will be good at waiting.

Not that she is completely alone anway. The Lighhouses of Valinor are a long string from somewhere far down south where jungles lie unadventured, to the far north where it is cold nearly all year round.

It is there Tindómiel resides.

There are three others who live with her up here.

Eleniquë was a Fëanorian soldier who had died at the Nirnaeth and taken the north as her refuge from being dragged into further strife. She did little upkeep of the lighthouse itself, mostly spending her time hunting food and finding plants hidden under the snow, but despite this Tindómiel quite liked her.

There was also Helcaear, the old Teler, who had been living here before Tindómiel. While his original companions had retired to Alqualondë upon being replaced, he had been quite insistent he stay and show the newbies how it all worked. They didn't really need him anymore but he had a magic touch with the light and made the nicest stew, so no-one complained.

And then there was Finellach, their newest companion.

Now Tindómiel isn't stupid. She might never have met the high king in person while she still lived on Númenor but she had seen pictures and heard much in her uncle's letters.

But he is sweet and hardworking and clearly working through some shit, so Tindómiel respectfully doesn't bring it up.

It's one late night when Tindómiel finds herself alone with him. Helcaear is in bed and Eleniquë has yet to return from her recent hunt, and so they stand guard over the lighthouse fire to make sure it doesn't go out.

Despite the bright light at their backs, they still have a fair view of the stars on clear nights like these, so it has become routine for them to congregate at the barrier and stargaze.

Tindómiel had asked as she hadn't been raised an elf. The stars had always amazed her but she had never grew up hearing of them as her fully elven counterparts: her father's relationship with his elvish side had always been difficult so what Tindómiel knew of their culture was patchy at best.

These lessons also left them...closer than the others. Tindómiel doesn't think it's attraction she feels for him but it is certainly something warm and something bigger than just friendship.

"That one on the horizon," Finellach says, pointing out. Tindómiel follows his finger. "The one that looks like a W - if you follow the point on Telumendil up you find the end."

"I see it," Tindómiel says as she finally finds the five stars he's talking about. "I don't remember that one."

"Wilwarin. The butterfly. Did I ever tell you the story of that one?"

"I'm not sure. It's not familiar with it in any case."

"Well," Finellach leans back slightly, "the way my fathers told it to me, Wilwarin was a Maia of Manwë before the elves awoke. She was wild and beautiful, dressed often in deep blues and shining light.

"But for all Wilwarin was of Manwë's, her heart lay far higher than his winds could take her. She wove light into her raiment and silvers into her blue much like the Maiar of Varda, and would sit high up in the branches of trees to watch as they created their starlight and began to light the sky.

"It was Ilmarë, Varda's handmaiden, who spotted her. She first thought that she might be a servant of Melkor and asked Wilwarin to show her something that only a being uncorrupted could.

"She sang, something quiet and mournful and yearning, but it was enough for Ilmarë who had once known the Maia now known as Sauron and how he could never create something of such beauty.

"'I shall take you to my Mistress," Ilmarë said, "for you have shown your intentions to be true.'

"Wilwarin followed Ilmarë through the land of the Valar until they reached a long river that played it's way through the valley, and heard the song of pipes on the wind.

"There in the water was another Maia. Her name was Lantasírë and the song she played was that of the river itself.

"'Where are you going, a star handmaiden and a wind spirit?" she asked, pausing her music only a moment. 'You make odd company.'

"'Our journey is long yet," Ilmarë replied, "and so we cannot dawdle.'

"'Then stay just one song. The river always likes a new dance partner.'

"Lantasírë was a convincing spirit with her wide grin and fey fingers playing their notes, and so Ilmarë and Wilwarin agreed to one dance. They danced together on the grassy bank of that wild place and as she passed and twirled and jumped and swirled, Wilwarin thought she understood what it was to be a star for just that moment.

"But then the song finished and they bid Lantasírë farewell so as to continue their journey.

"To get to the place where the Queen of the Valar dwelt, Ilmarë and Wilwarin first had to traverse a land that was filled with the shadows of Melkor. The mists of that place were thick and dark and within them, Wilwarin lost sight of her guide.

"She wandered long in that place, growing cold and alone and fearful, until a dark thing prowled out of the shadows. It was made of fire and ash and stood before Wilwarin like a Maia might.

"'What are you doing out here little thing?' it asked, it's voice smooth and silky. 'It's dangerous to be alone in these parts."

"'I am finding the Queen of the Stars,' Wilwarin replied despite her fear, 'for I wish to help her build the heavens.'

"'Little thing, why join the heavens when you can stay down here and join the shadows? There is power to be had here, you may do anything you wish.

"'I wish to be a light to guide the Firstborn when they are born. That I cannot do in your shadows,' Wilwarin said and she glowed with the holy light of the trees until the shadows hissed and broke apart in front of her.

"She stepped out of the land of darkness to find Ilmarë waiting for her and together they continued on to the throne of Varda, who waited there for them.

"'Wilwarin, you have come a long way with my loyal handmaiden to be here. You have shown yourself to be good and true in your song; to be joyful and bright in your dance; and straight and honest in your light. A star you shall not be, but instead one of my greatest constellations.' Varda smiled on Wilwarin and after that day, Wilwarin sat as one of the brightest constellations among Varda's stars: a guide for all the Eldar of this world."

Tindómiel sighs. "Wow, that's a lot of responsibility. Imagine wanting that."

Finellach shrugs. "I guess it's not so dissimilar to what we do. This whole string of lighthouses keeps fishermen and adventurers from crashing against the shore in the dark. It lights their way just as she does."

"I suppose so..."

Tindómiel looks out at Wilwarin, slowly rising in the night sky, and wanders if she can hear them.

"Ah well," Finellach stands and stretches, "I think it's getting cold enough for some tea. What say you?"

"I could kill for something hot to drink. I'll add more fuel to the fire while you make it. And bring Eleniquë with you if she's back already, it looks like it's going to be a nice night."

Finellach gives her a jaunty, fairly terrible salute and disappears down the ladder.