This is the askbox equivalent of a king-size candy bar, I guess.
In the late part of Fingon and Celechwes's wedding (both in a continuity where Celechwes was already pregnant or in which pregnancy was the Plan but never came to fruition, and Gil-Galad was a random sergeant from Nargothrond who stepped the fuck up), Lalwen, very drunk, leaned against Círdan's side where they sat together on a balcony overlooking the moonlit first rise of the River Sirion, and asked if he wanted children one day.
After centuries of correspondence both formal and informal, such questions were easy between them, if particularly intimate tonight. Círdan admitted that he did think of it with yearning sometimes - but he had other duties and loves, and at any rate, he'd never found someone to have a child with.
Lalwen promised that if he still hadn't found someone when this was all over ("this" the war, the Siege, the Long Peace, which they had no real hope of ending in conquest themselves but which they thought Morgoth could never break, either), she would happily marry him, and bear "more children than Nerdanel."
Círdan said, amused and fond, that that seemed excessive, and one or two would likely be quite enough.
Lalwen agreed. "All my siblings are overly ambitious." Then she slid down and fell asleep in his lap, because quite frankly Lalwen could never hold her alcohol.
About 200 years later, after "this" was, in fact, all over - and they'd both helped raise a king to adulthood, and the Sirion and all the waters and lands of Beleriand were lost beneath the sea - they stood on a new shore and Lalwen wept because she would miss him terribly, her dearest friend left, as she would miss Gil-Galad and her few other remaining niblings, and all those of their jumbled people who chose to stay...but she couldn't bear to stay herself. Too many had died, from the first steps upon the Ice - from the blood-stained docks of Alqualondë, from the Darkened steps of Formenos! - and she couldn't endure a single change of seasons more, watching the trees go dull and bear again.
Anyway, she said, wiping her nose quite unprincesslike on her sleeve, those who Sailed now needed someone to speak for them in the high courts of the West. Even Finrod, even Idril...well, they hadn't been here in the end, much as those who had arrived (and survived) through the end had never been here for the long years of joy and peace. Someone of repute needed to go who had endured through the whole long Age, and Lalwen was more or less the only one left (humble enough to seek forgiveness).
Círdan, tears on his cheeks as well, promised to see her again first thing when he one day followed (which would be many, many years in the future, they both knew, because he had long-since been bidden to Sail West last of all the Elves of Arda).
(Now, that was always a little exaggerated, because even after Círdan the Shipwright has Sailed, for Ages unto the End of the World, there may always be one last stubborn elf isolated in a forest glade who decides that enough is enough and builds a clumsy canoe from a fire-hollowed tree, or maybe no more than a raft; and so long as their aim is true, Ulmo will see them safely to their promised home.
But the fact remains: one day, Men will look back and deem that the winters have grown harsher, or awkwardly more mild, and overall less wonderfully crisp; and the summers have grown more fiery, or awkwardly lukewam, and overall less perfectly golden; and the brooks babble less happily and the rustling of tree leaves sounds less like conversation... A few will say it is because the last of the Elves has finally left us behind. Most will say, in later days yet, that it was early signs of anthrocentric climate change and the pre-industrial revolution bringing increased population and burning of etc etc…)
Some years hence, Círdan and Lalwen sat together on a bluff overlooking the eastern sea, which once they viewed as the western sea, and Círdan said, "Do you remember our conversation just before you fell asleep at Celechwes and Fingon's wedding party?" (She did.) "If you're still willing - well, the truth is, I was speaking with Ossë and we..."
Now, a thing you should know about Círdan Shipwright, in his youth called Nowë, is that he is possibly the only elf of note to have stayed on good terms with all the Elvish peoples of Middle Earth through all the ages he dwelt on its shores. Even Elrond feuded with Mirkwood for a few centuries in the early Third Age! But Círdan was universally known and respected for his patience, his diplomacy, both his deep wisdom and his common sense...
Less well-known, though never deliberately hidden, was the fact that his dearest friend in the world was Ossë, Lord of Storms, and nothing delighted him more than to sail a sturdy one-elf coracle out to the heart of a wild sea-storm and fling his heart open to the crashing waves, the howling winds, the crash and the flash and the rain so hard and seas so high that the songs of air and water, up and down, tangled together in a glorious symphony that wasn't discordant, not anymore, but couldn't be said to be safe either... But Círdan was one of the greatest sailors the world ever knew and the ships of his own hand were steadier yet, and Ossë was only there to play, not to rage. Together they danced and sang, while Uinen kept a discreet eye out from a distance to be sure everything stayed safe, sane and consensual.
(This might explain, a little, why Círdan got along so well with the ever-tempestuous Noldor.)
Meanwhile, Lalwen had a reputation for being "the normal one" of the House of Finwë. She hadn't put any particular effort into this, she'd just never died in battle nor told a Vala to fuck off to their face, nor even created any legendary objects of power. She threw a good party and had a well-honed knack for stopping fights before they started.
Their wedding was extremely tame by Noldorin standards, and only a little dramatic by the standards of the Falas - a simple beachfront affair with extended family and a few dozen good friends, with no more glitter than the gems mixed into the sand and Eärendil sailing brightly above. (In balance, Fingolfin, who'd been shipping this since roughly 200 FA and not just because it would've been wildly politically convenient, threw his sister THE most glorious gaudy bachelorette party. Possibly ever.)
They were entirely open about the fact yes, naturally, they were marrying because they loved each other dearly and, after so long apart, they looked forward to being bound together for eternity - though probably not living together all the time, because Lalwen was at heart a city girl and now that Círdan never had to worry about random large predators, bandits or shadow-laced bad weather, he slept on the beach or on a ship 9 nights out of 10 -
- and also that Lalwen was going to more or less serve as a surrogate birth mother for a child brought into the world by Círdan and Ossë. Ossë couldn't bear it himself, see; his nature was too inherently destructive...
People who didn't know them well tended to blink at this; think, Well, it's Círdan and Lalwen - they must know what they're doing. It must be reasonable and not insane; and move on thoughtlessly. Some even forgot as soon as the subject changed, because it wasn't in line with what they knew.
People who knew them well asked things like, "What?" and "How!?!", and even, "Is that safe? Have you consulted Thingol, the Vanandili, the Fëantúri - "
(Lalwen shrugged at her older brother. "We're going to make it up as we go. Don't worry, Nolo! Uinen will be involved as well, to keep everything as peaceable as an infant fëa needs, and myself as well. We've literally had foursomes before - and this time, it won't be stretched across several thousand miles plus the Straight Road.")
Faliel ("daughter of the waves") is a basically normal Elvish girl, except she casually runs on water, and breathes it if she gets into the rhythm of it (saltwater is much easier, but freshwater works, too.)
