#vardamaiden

COMPARING OUR CHARATERS HEIGHT ... 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔢𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤!

The skies might mourn her presence in distant shores, but that meant she was right here. That meant she was safe. Happy. Glowing. Teary-eyed at times, but with a smile as bright as the sun and a laughter that could rival the most elevated of songs.

Sometimes Gil-galad had to remind himself that her presence within his halls was real and not the deliriums of a lovesick heart. That the hand that rested upon his chest whenever their steps faltered in the middle of a conversation was as warm and caring as he remembered, that the lips pressed to his knuckles in a silent display of affection were as loving as they once had been.

Two centuries had passed, and while the rift time and distance had imposed upon them vanished like it had never been there at all, he still needed to check Ilmarë was really there.

Like right now.

Heart racing, Gil-galad turned among the pillows scattered all through the carpet, expecting to find an empty space beside him and not his star maiden peacefully asleep by his side. Fair locks were brushed out of her face with a reverent, delicate touch and, as he adjusted the blanket around her frame, he hugged her closer to his front.

Ancient traditions had been preserved in this new realm for centuries now, and after presiding the morning ceremonies in which different parties had gone out of the city to gather wood, the High King was getting ready for the evening's festivities.

Sort of.

The sun would go down and fires would crack and sing, until dawn came and only dying embers remained.

A glass of wine sat on the queen's vanity as Gil-galad stood behind her, his nimble fingers braiding her hair with as much delicacy as he could muster. Up and down, crossed and twirled, her locks took the shape of a soft golden crown garlanded with white stars and tiny flowers.

Blue enamel studded with silver stars and a sigil on the bottom, now hidden in the depths of his fianceé's favoured floral blend, rested within the embrace of her fingers, and his heart never failed to soar at the sight of it.

He had commissioned that very set in the early days of their acquaintance, and seeing them now, decades after, chipped here and there and loved daily, softened something in him he hadn't cared to name.

It was as warm a feeling as the cup cradled in Ilmarë's hands, which Gil-galad himself refilled when he sat down next to her. Shy around her, as though he hadn't craved her presence and her laughter all through those long years, he offered a small smile.

𝕬re you Sauron's type? ━━━ ⟢ bingo card.

The altar of her love, Sauron hath desecrated. And with his betrayal, the incense of their union hath turned to ashes in the first dark of Almaren. That hallowed dawn of the two lamps seemed to him a dream, for it was an age since last he beheld her countenance, and in her presence he scarce believes her real. Amid the ruins of an old watchtower, beneath the cover of night, she stands before him as he stands before her, and they exist in the clandestine. His black steed whines, growing antsy for Mairon was long overdue at Morgoth's court. Even in the dominion of shadow, her light presses upon him. He stands a courteous distance away from her cloaked figure, his arms folded behind his back lest his treacherous spirit succumbs to its desire of holding her. Morgoth's lieutenant is the cutout of devoir, bearing the mantle of his dark allegiance, emblazoned upon his cloak, and his resolve shan't be cleaved by her spell. He cannot allow it, not when triumph is most in his claws!

❛ Do not ask that of me. ❜ Alas, for all the bark in his tone, his voice descends into a plea, beseeching her to take heed. As they speak, horrors awaken in the depths of Angband, dark creatures wrought for war against the Host of the West. But even the sweetness of victory cannot help Mairon stomach the thought of any such creatures capturing her. ❛ Take up arms, and I should let you strike me where I stand, only do not bid me return. ❜

But they were. 

The date loomed ahead, and while it had been settled for some time now, Gil-galad had some regrets of his own. He had cried these days more than he ever remembered doing, joy and sorrow and love mingled in a complex equation that streamed quietly down his cheeks, each drop a reminder of everything he had denied himself all through his life.

Love. The tear gleamed for an instant over the bundle of blankets he cradled on his arm, and the King of a now gone era looked down to inspect his child's untroubled expression. Peace. The healers had said she was almost too small, but her steady heartbeat and vigorous cries had dispelled any thoughts of frailty. She'd held onto life and onto them with as much stubbornness as her parents possessed.

The world blurred for a moment, the quiet evening outside bleeding the last rays of sun across the carpeted floor of the room. He blinked, and then lifted his free arm to run a cuff beneath his eyes. The babe stirred at the motion, and Gil-galad let out a wet chuckle as he watched her little hands grasp at nothing but air.

"I do regret some of my choices, now that you're here with us," he said softly, resuming his pacing. His hand rested over the blankets, and soon the smallest little fingers closed over one of his. "I wished..." Gil-galad murmured, but he sighed as his voice trembled and then broke.

These were the things he had never confessed to @vardamaiden, knowing that she would gladly take all his sorrows and fears and shoulder them as though they were her own, and knowing, too, how she tended to worry.

"I wished," he started again, cooing softly when the babe yawned and then opened her eyes, "I wished that you would have come earlier to us, even if it meant bringing you into a world full of perils and heartbreak and death. I wished that I could have loved you sooner, Falathriel —that you could have enjoyed this realm beloved in her golden days, for your first steps to leave their prints on this soil."

The little princess had been quiet this far, and only looked at her father with such an uninterested expression that had him cracking a little smile despite the vulnerable nature of his words.

"But I was always too scared of leaving you too soon, my child. To leave you fatherless as I had been, even if I knew I would be leaving you in the best hands." 

Gil-galad then stopped and leaned forward to press a kiss to Falathriel's brow, who had started to pout in a way he'd come to recognize. Ignoring the brightness in his eyes this time, he rocked softly in the hopes that he could delay the inevitable cries for a few moments.