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It is the early Third Age. Cirdan learns to live with his losses again.
It was hard at first, walking through the streets of Mithlond, remembering with every step how things used to be, before the Age ended, before so many had fallen in Mordor or before its Gates, and others had left on those ships they built, he and those who remained with him.
Time passed. That great pain did not heal, but became livable. And one day someone made a joke, an old one that had been around for centuries. Cirdan found he could remember Gil luminous with laughter at it, now, without flames interposing themselves, and laughed longer than it deserved.
Written at a SWG Insta-drabbling event, but previously only posted under lock.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, J. R. R. Tolkien's Middle-earth Legendarium & Related Fandoms
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Characters: Elrond Peredhel, Ereinion Gil-galad, Glorfindel (Tolkien), Erestor (Tolkien), Námo | Mandos (Tolkien)
Additional Tags: Fëanorian Erestor (Tolkien), Canon Divergence, to make it sadder, Kinslaying (Tolkien), Valar do not understand the Children
Summary:
Elrond finally, finally acknowledges that he is being spoken to and slowly looks up at her.
Finduilas has come to visit her brother Ereinion, High King of the Elves, in the Halls of Lindon.
One night, when the older sibling cannot sleep as a result of old, nightly cravings, she decides to wake her brother and ask him to join her,
for old times' sake.
"Finduilas."
The little girl stopped in her tracks, her right foot frozen on its tippy toes, the rest of her body stilled only mere feet from the crib.
"What are you doing...?" Cìrdan raised a brow, putting down the book he had pretended to read to catch her in the act.
Her warm blonde waves of hair ceased to bounce then, too, as her blue eyes fixated on him.
A cheeky silence followed before she showed her incomplete, growing smile.
"Uh..." she started, her eyes dancing about as she attempted to generate a lie.
"You were going to wake your brother, weren't you?"
"No??" Immediately, her arms crossed across her red tunic, and she pretended to the best of her abilities to be offended by his (not so) baseless accusation.
"Yes you were."
"I would never!" she insisted.
"You have seven times before." said he.
"Alriiight!" moaned she in defeat, drooping her entire upper body as she began to limp away from the infant's bed. Cìrdan couldn't help but chuckle as she made her way over to him, throwing herself over his knees in an overly dramatic fashion. Burying her head in his lap, she began to groan her complaints and frustrations.
"I waited all day 'nd he was only awake for three hours - to drink milk and then fall asleep again!"
"I'm bored! Nobody wants to play with me. Who else am I supposed to play with??"
"He is always sleeping!"
"You know" the old shipwright started warmly, "that babies need a lot of sleep, don't you? To grow?"
"But uncle Cìrdan," said she, finally lifting her head to look up at him with her sulking blue eyes, "he isn't even growing - look!" she said as she pointed back at her brother.
Cìrdan chuckled once more.
"I disagree." retorted he, "I think Ereinion has grown quite a little since he was born."
"He still cannot walk!" - "But he does sit, does he not?"
Finduilas frowned.
"And does he not watch you attentively when he is awake? Does he not smile when you jest with him?"
"Hmpf...yeah." She crossed her arms once more, and this time around, slightly rolled her eyes.
"I remember when you told me he was eerie for only blankly staring at you."
Finduilas peered up at the old shipwright, who returned a grin, making her lips, too curve up. Sighing, she tapped him on his thigh.
"But don't you think he's slept enough already? What if I let him sleep and he wakes up in the evening? We won't have any time to play." She returned to standing again when she presented her argument.
Cìrdan observed her for a moment before he, in silence, reached anew for the book he had put down. As he returned to the page he'd read, he pretended to read for a moment, letting an interval of silence linger between them, before he looked at her over the rims of the book.
"...Do you know what happens when Elven children do not get enough sleep, Finduilas?"
The elven girl met her uncle's cold, blue gaze. His kind eyes suddenly seemed to hold something ominous within them. Unsettled, yet curious, she began to think. And think.
And think.
Her mother and father read her bedtime stories of magical and sometimes frightening tales and warnings every night. Never had she heard of one involving a lack of sleep. But Uncle Cìrdan would never tell a lie. He was the oldest, wisest elf—that is what her father said.
"...What?" she began, in a quiet, weary tone, "happens?"
"The elven child, " he commenced, purposely adding a dramatic pause,
"Turns into an unhumorous, cruel, misshapen little creature."
Finduilas gasped aloud.
The elder raised a knowing, warning brow.
He observed her pause, watching her gaze wander off him into the air before her as she searched her mind for something... When there, a sudden grin claimed her freckled face.
"Like... a goblin?"
Perplexed, the elder lowered his book, revealing again all of his face.
"Yes!" he said. Shock was what followed next when the elder sibling began to giggle until she was laughing.
"Are you truly laughing about this? Is the possibility of your brother morphing into a creature of the shadows a funny matter to you, Finduilas?"
Watching her laughing fit intensify in a confounded disbelief, Cìrdan asked himself who she had gotten her eccentric sense of humour from. And yet, her sweet giggles soon infected the elder. Soon, he, too, joined in on the laughter. He hoped she would forget this moment ere Ereinion would grow to understand words, for otherwise, she would inform her little brother of the not so funny thing he laughed at.
They laughed until they could no longer. When it finally died down into sighs and gasps for air, the girl and the elder locked eyes for the last time. His face, then, suddenly grew serious anew. And taking hold of his walking stick, he extended it to touch her shoulder in a playful manner.
"... Do not waken him. Understood?"
— Almost 3000 years later —
"Psst!"
Ereinion felt his brows furrow above eyes he had already attempted to close for the 5th time that night. In the darkness of his chamber, he had at first shifted ot of the gentle light of the moon, then further away from the left edge he risked falling from, to then move into the center, away from the headboard - only to just shortly have turned away from the high windows to face in the darkness that gathered itself at the opposite side of his chamber. So occupied had he been with the task of falling asleep that he hadn't heard her (whose room he had placed in another wing at the news of her visit to Lindon) whisper.
"Brother!"
At this, the King thought to've imagined his sister's voice, who had during the day called for him so often that he had lost count. As weariness slowly slackened his shoulders, he secretly worried she would follow him into his dreams.
But Finduilas did not need to target the dreamscape when reality was already at her disposal.
"Brother!" called she in the dimness of the hallway she stood in, so lowly her voice did not echo off its high walls.
Hearing her for the second time sent a wave of irritation through his entire body. How had she made her way to the threshold of his chamber from the opposite wing? Slowly, and as quietly as he could, he exhaled through his nose in an attempt to relax shoulders that had again grown tense. With eyes that remained shut, he pulled the covers about him closer, hoping that she would tire and consequently yield if he stayed as still as he possibly could.
The King should have known better about his sibling.
A moment—a mere minute passed in silence—when a bangle struck him in the back of the head.
"How dare you?!" growled he as he violently sat astraight in his bed.
He perceived her, cloaked in her russet orange night robe. She cleared her throat.
"Good late evening, brother."
"It is midnight!" answered he furiously.
"I know." She smiled, and her blue eyes twinkled in the darkness.
"Why are you here?!" - "Stop shouting!" demanded she, opening the door wider as she slipped one foot over the threshold. Her golden curls had tumbled over her shoulder as she'd done so. It was then, in the gentle glow of moonlight that fell through his windows, that she'd laid away the circlet that had sat atop her head.
"I can't sleep." said she after a long pause.
"And so I do not have the right to sleep?"
Finduilas rolled her eyes at him. "You'd think I interrupted a love meeting with one of your secret lady friends, the way you are growling every word at me. Or maybe I did. Maybe she lies unusually still under those sheets. It would explain your lack of a shirt-"
"Tell me why you are here or I'll-"
"I crave some hot chocolate! There - the secret is out!"
The High King's brows only raised for a split instant before they dove even lower than they'd sat before.
"You woke me... to fetch you a maid?"
"No, you rogue, walnut-brained bear!" Finduilas scoffed, "I thought you'd like to tag along, you know, like old times!"
The lack of a smile and enthusiasm in her brother's eyes made the princess sigh with disappointment.
"No thank you I am not thirsty, Finduilas."
"Do not tell me you no longer fancy a cup of hot chocolate by the moon and stars, Ereinion! I will not believe it!"
"I do not crave hot chocolate in the middle of the night, sister."
"So you do crave something." Her fair brows raised above her eyes, blue and alight with playfulness. He asked himself where she got all that energy from... and when it would at last run out.
One thing he knew for certain was that he was not going to find out tonight.
"Then by all means, do come along, brother! You do look a faint bit starved. Yes..." mumbled she as she looked him over, "You've lost weight. Mother would agree."
The corridor was quiet. Warm-coloured light glowed from the burning torches that hung in the scones upon the sandstone walls. He walked barefooted while the chafing of her slippers against the ground echoed only as loudly as a whisper. Walking, almost skipping ahead, Finduilas would turn at every fifth pace to cast a glance over her shoulder. Gil-galad, clad in a midnight blue tunic, followed even if reluctantly. Seeing his lack of enthusiasm every time she met his eyes would force a giggle out of her.
"Oh brother, do cheer up! When was it last that we went on a nightly adventure?" said she when she turned to look at him for the third time.
He rolled his eyes.
"Remember when I would wake you hours after Mother and Father had gone to bed, and we would wrap our blankets about ourselves? I would hold a glowing candle as we crossed the dark corridor, and the stairs—you would hold onto my 'cloak'—quiet as a mouse."
"Robbing me of any chance to sleep back then already, weren't you?"
"Hey!" protested the elder of the two, "You didn't seem to dislike it back then, did you now?"
"Lower your voice!" muttered he.
From shadow into illuminance they stepped at repeating intervals, until the door to the kitchen, standing open and casting warm light onto the floor, came into view.
"Psht!" hissed Finduilas, abruptly stopping, leading Ereinion to bump into her. He stifled the grunt in his throat, snapping his eyes at her.
"What??" asked he through gritted teeth.
"Do you think anyone's in there?" said she.
"How should I know?"
"Are they not your servants?" She cast him a judging side glance. "Don't you know everybody's bedtime by heart? High King?" Her last words curled her lips into a sly smirk.
"Keep. Walking." said he coldly.
"...Hm." huffed she as she obeyed his say, "If there's anyone in there, I will tell them you were the one who couldn't sleep without their warm milk."
He watched her continue in confident steps all up to the door frame, when she made a dramatic halt and peered three times as though she was hiding from a dangerous enemy. Ereinion shook his head.
"It is safe to enter!" said she as though he had asked. She slipped inside, and he followed.
"Ah." sighed the princess at the beautiful sight.
In the center stood a long, broad counter made out of beautiful light wood. The enchanted lights that hung in ten small chandeliers spread about the ceiling glowed with a warm, almost rosy light.
"I would like to cook here," breathed she looking around.
Large baskets and boxes filled with fresh vegetables and fruits piled in the far left corner, right beside the high shelves which held various flours, sugars and powders.
Ereinion, too, looked on with silent pride. He had not been in the kitchen in a long time, so long ago that he'd forgotten its layout.
"So," said his sister, "where do they hide the milk?"
"So."
"So what?"
"Well," grimaced she uncomfortably, "do light it, brother."
His dark brows scrunched together. "Me?"
"Yes you!" insisted she, "this is your kitchen after all."
"You think I remember the workings of a stove?"
"Well I shouldn't know how to light it, should I?" said he as though he should have known just by looking at her. (She was right somewhere... One could tell.)
He scoffed. "And here I thought you were the older of us."
"You are the male. You tame the fire and flame." Her eyes darted to the solitary match in his clasped fingers.
"I will not drink cold milk. " muttered she, whipping her golden mane back before wrapping her hands tighter around the glass bottle of milk. She met his eye innocently and yet, expectantly,
"...It unsettles my stomach."
"It will soon begin to bubble along." said she as she looked at the white liquid in the copper pot.
"Meanwhile," her orange nightgown danced as she turned around, "we shall find where your cook keeps the cocoa and sugar."
She walked up to the large shelf beside the baskets. Staring like a bright eyed child, her gaze climbed the shelves like a ladder.
When she heard a sigh beside her, she knew he had followed.
"Can you see it?" asked she him.
"I wouldn't tell you if I did."-"Oh there!" she pointed at the tenth shelf. "And the sugar's right beneath it!"
The princess slipped out of her loafers and climbed the wooden ladder, which leaned onto the shelf, barefooted. Coming down with both jars squeezed to her chest, she giggled, "How many spoons of sugar do you take, brother?"
"None, " said he, casting a glance back unto the warming pot of milk.
"Oh I see." said she.
"So you have not abandoned your devotion to the golden ambrosia. Loyal until the end?"
"Excuse me?" blinked he.
"You probably already had spoons of it today at breakfast."
"Finduilas-"
"The Bee-Nectar Burglar. The Noldorian Syrup Snatcher." laughed she, a beautiful laugh.
"You were addicted to honey Ereinion, do not lie!" she snickered, before interrogatively raising her brow at him, "Are you still the enthusiast I knew once?"
Ereinion simply stared at her, telling himself not to give in to her rousing provocations. She spun around him in a playful manner.
"Remember how transfixed you would become in the morning and afternoons when Mother reached for the glass on the shelf? You would demand a spoonful of it; otherwise, you would unravel into tears and a sulking mood that lasted until the showing of the stars in the sky."
"I would allow you two teaspoons of it in your hot chocolate when we snuck into the kitchen in secret? Don't you remember?" she looked at him as she stirred in the milk.
"And how quickly you would get sleepy after a few sips. Sometimes you fell asleep right in the chair, and I would have to keep you awake, hold your pudgy little hand, and take slow steps until we made our way back to our beds."
"I know not what you speak of!" said he irritatedly.
"Says the one who Mother named the Honey Bear!" giggled she as he lifted the pot off the stove. Turning carefully, watching the hot liquid swing to and fro within the pot, she deposited it onto the counter.
"Since you do not know where it is kept, I shall be kind and wait until you find it, ye-"
Her words were cut short when she caught sight of him holding a strangely large jar of dark honey, about to untwist the lid.
"How did you find it so quickly?!"
The King did not answer, only eyed her out of the corner of his eye when he returned to the counter, with the honey dipper in hand. Finduilas looked at him open-mouthed, unable to find the words for the urge to laugh that overcame her—and the urge to strangle him. He, who had pretended not to know where anything was kept.
"You-"
"Mind your own, thank you." whispered he as he dove the dipper into the dark jar and took the pot out of her hands to pour the remaining milk into his waiting cup. Rolling her eyes at him, she reached for the spoon buried inside the dark powder and heaved three teaspoons full into her milk. Two teaspoons of sugar followed, before she began to stir.
The sweet scent of chocolate ascended into the air.
"Mind your honey dosage, Ereinion! I'm not carrying your gigantuous self back to your room!"
"I am here, unsleeping against my will." said he as he lifted the honey dripper and let it hover above his steaming cup. "I will indulge in as much honey as I want."
"Suit yourself." mumbled the eldest, turning her back to him and making her way to the broad side of the counter.
"Oh!" Her sudden gasp startled him.
"What is i-" — "Look!" whispered she, before her finger uncurled and pointed. Quickly, he joined her side.
"Apple-Cinnamon and Hazelnut Cake!"
The siblings stared at the round and flat pastry. Glazed slices of apples sat atop it alike a large flower with three dozen petals.
"You adore hazelnut cake." said she, turning her eyes up at him with an enthusiastic, yet deviant smile.
"And I," continued she, "do not despise baked apple..."
"Do you want the apple slices on yours?" asked she while chewing.
"Do not speak with food in your mouth, Finduilas!" mumbled he, fighting her fork away with his own.
"It is delicious." sighed she.
"There are still slices on your piece." noted he.
"But still!"
"Eat them, then!"
Finduilas laughed out loud, her golden locks dancing as she threw her head back.
"I bet you haven't had this much fun in a while, brother!" She laid down her fork at the edge of the plate where both their slices of cake sat upon.
"Staying up with your sister is not so bad after all, is it?"
Ereinion ignored her and took a long sip of his hot chocolate.
"Though staying up with you lady-friends might trump this, I must suspect."
He rolled his eyes irritatedly.
"...I do not have lady-friends." said he.
Finduilas, who sipped on her own cup, raised a brow at the intonation of his last word.
"...So only one, is it?"
"...Eat your cake."
"Pfft!" scoffed she as she indeed broke off another piece with her spoon.
"Forgive me for wanting you to be happy, Ereinion!"
"I am King; I have no time for such things." answered he in severe tone.
"What about that friend you had? The orphan? Teiya. She was beautiful, though about ten times as temperamental as you."
"I said eat your cake!" He threateningly let his fork hover above her slice of cake, which she fought away as though they were in a sword fight.
"Alright, alright!" whined she as she took another bite, quieting down. And yet, as she straightened against the counter, both sat with their backs against, pulling her knees to her chest, she peered at him out of the left corner of her eye. All she thought as she took silent note of the slight flush that coloured his cheeks as he ate was that she was going to find out who this lady friend was, come hell or high-water.
Ereinion then grabbed her attention when he, out of nowhere then, shook his head.
"What?" said she as she stole an apple slice from his piece of cake.
"I could have been sleeping," said he without looking at her, "...or reading, at the least."
"Oh come off it! You are very dramatic about your beauty-sleep, brother. It is not as if you are advanced in age. You probably spend sleepless nights ruminating about the crop yield, the roads that need to be paved anew, letters that need to be written—and you cannot allow one night of fun?"
It was the elder who now shook her head and rolled her eyes.
"...Maybe Cìrdan was right after all."
Finduilas mumbled into her cup to conceal the smirk that curled the corner of her mouth. Her words had stopped Ereinion from doing the same. His, lips, a mere inch away from the rim of his cup, closed. The usual scrunch of his brows followed, before his eyes snapped her way, full of suspicion and anger at not knowing what she was referring to.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing!" pretended she.
"Repeat what you just said." demanded he, unblinking.
"I-" - Finduilas!"
"I made it up!"- "...I'm going to bed."
"Alright, good God!" she acquiesced, grabbing him by his deep blue sleeve to keep him from standing up. The siblings locked eyes; one's gaze serious and already offended, the other's filled with bright mischief and fondness of a returning memory. Winsomely, she interlocked her arm with his, before she began to speak:
"When you were born, I thought we would immediately be able to play together: run about, chase one another, climb trees, swim in the river. In hindsight I know not why I thought so when I had seen many elven infants before you arrived; I guess maybe because Mother promised me I would finally have a playmate ."
"So when you were born—and all you did was to sleep and cry and eat—I felt betrayed, yes; disappointed. 12 months of watching you do only those things—waiting for you to wake up one day and greet me with proper words or crawl over to join me as I built a castle out of my wooden blocks (which I later learned you were only ever meant to destroy). But you didn't. And so," breathed she,
"I had reached the edge of my patience. And I decided that I was going to wake you up."
Rolling his eyes, which very audibly spelled out the words 'of course you did', he shook his head and turned his face away at the thought of her terror having begun before his earliest memory.
"Hey!" protested the princess, pulling at her brother's tunic and locking him in place, "I'm not done!"
"So! I stood on my tip toes, waited until mother had gone to look for father in his chamber, and began to sneak up to your crib in the living room of our home by the river. And I was almost by your bedside, almost woke you up just as I had intended to...
If there hadn't been Cìrdan."
It was Finduilas who rolled her eyes this time around. Ereinion, silent still, looked at her out of the corner of his eye, suddenly waiting for her to continue.
"He stopped me from waking you—I think for the eighth time. Succeeded, at last." she revealed annoyedly.
" 'Babies need a lot of sleep.' - his words." She huffed. "Didn't care then and do not care now, to tell you the truth. I did not care!... because I had waited for so long for someone to play with."
She fell silent for a moment, adjusting her bangles, distracting herself the way she always did when she realized she'd revealed her vulnerable side—her internal world and thoughts. Her brother watched her, unaware that the tension in his shoulders had dissipated at her words, and that they had loosened. A gentle, warming silence began to build between them.
"He told me," continued she as a chuckle began to intercept her words, "after I complained about the fact that all you did was sleep and eat and stare at everyone and everything, that I had to give you time to grow."
She laughed and nudged him on the shoulder. "But that didn't convince me.", she said with curled lips, brushing her hair past her shoulder... casting a mischievous look.
"So he employed another tactic:
He said—he asked me—whether I knew what happened to Elven infants if they were not allowed to sleep as much as they needed to."
This made the King turn his face towards his elder sister again. The idea of the old shipwright creating, even telling tall tales was one that seemed strange, almost unbelievable to him. Which in turn made him think that what he was about to hear was no tall tale at all—but old knowledge even he who had to learn most of what was to know about his kind, knew not.
Finduilas noticed his sudden peak in interest and met his gaze playfully, straightening and leaning back the same way he did when something caught his attention (something he was completely unaware he did and would therefore never catch when she purposefully mirrored him).
"He said: The elven child may turn into an unhumorous, cruel, misshapen little creature."
Uglier than a small Goblin. Crueller than an Orc. Unable to speak. Only growl. Forever small. Just..." she paused,
"A tragic, unsightly thing."
The silence that followed was filled with stun and discombobulation on Ereinion's part. The eyes with which he looked at her were ones behind which the usual irritation lingered—and yet, they were replete with just those emotions. Not that Finduilas had cared to look at him as she'd spoken, because she hadn't.
"Maybe I should've let you sleep after all..." she simply said last, shrugging her shoulders part matter-of-factly, part in accepted defeat. Finduilas adjusted her nightgown and reached anew for her fork. But just as she was about to plunge back into her slice of pastry, a strange sound quickly grew and filled her ears.
The princess had actually felt it before she'd seen it. Though her shoulder had not touched his, she'd sensed a gentle, brusquely intensifying oscillation next to her:
It had been an almost inaudible chuckle at first. One that started deep in one's chest, one that proceeded to infect the entire body. When her eyes snapped his way, she found him with his eyes closed and his right hand closing into a fist as the laughter claimed him.
At first she was puzzled; confused whether he was laughing because it had actually been funny or whether her story had been the last straw. Either way, she hadn't seen or heard him laugh since their youth. If only she could have known that it was the image her words had conjured in his mind's eye that had cracked his cold shell—the very same thing that had made her laugh when Cìrdan had told her the same. Finduilas' blue eyes widened first in bewilderment before they flooded with gladness.
Gladness at having been able to make her younger brother laugh the way only an older sibling could have.
Joining in, she leaned in to get a closer look at him, and her golden curls tumbled forth as she did so. Her hand reached for his, making the bangles around her wrists tinkle. She'd missed his laughter, missed his smile; she strangely felt as though she witnessed something sacred, something secret.
The King's laughter.
She didn't recall whether they had gotten too loud, did not even remember what they had spoken about after the laughter had died down. The did each take another slice of cake. Ereinion had gotten on his knees to reach for the jar of honey on the counter, and spread some over his slice.
They'd laughed some more, then.
And suddenly, when she'd been telling him about something, she turned to look at him, and found him quietly asleep.
Finduilas fell silent then and kept her eyes on him for a beat, before she carefully laid her plate and fork aside as not to wake him.
"The honey worked its magic once more, brother." she whispered as she smiled, suddenly seeing his younger, much smaller self before her.
"Pity I can't carry you to bed anymore. Strong and tall as you've grown... you're the one carrying all of us, all our kind now." She raised her hand to his face and brushed a dark strand of hair out of his face.
"...But I will still watch over you as best as I can."
Without another word, she took hold of his hand and gently squeezed it, before she briefly stood up to cover him with the outermost layer of the vivid orange night robes she wore. When she sat down beside him again, she grabbed hold of his arm and nuzzled against it.
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Ки́рдан (синд. Círdan) по прозвищу Корабе́л — один из представителей эльфийского народа телери. В Первую Эпоху был правителем Фаласа, во Вторую и все последующие – Серых Гаваней Линдона.
We got to the start of tRoP season two with my friend!! And!! The scream i let out when Círdan appeared on the first episode!! that elf is so fine.. My little Fondation tv fan’s heart was beating hard at the return of Ben Daniels, this look really suit him 🤝
maglorath tidbit: Cirdan's spent the past few thousand years wandering around the Mediterranean. he can't leave until Maglor (hermit, soundly ignoring the cry of the gull) and Daeron (even more hermit, too far inland to hear the gulls) do, so for now he's just hanging out in france. he speaks a bizarre hybrid of french, italian, latin, falathrin sindarin, and ilkorin; Maglor and Daeron avoid talking to him partially because of the offense to their linguist senses
