[The Silmarillion]: Daughter of Kings, Part I
Title: Daughter of Kings, Part I
Author:
grey_gazania
Rating: G
Characters: Ereiniel Gil-galad, Fingon, OCs
Warnings: None
Summary: Fingolfin has been killed by Morgoth, and Fingon finds himself the High King of a people still reeling from the carnage of the Dagor Bragollach. Concerned for the safety of his family, he arranges for his daughter, Ereiniel, to move to Círdan's coastal city, Eglarest. A Gil-galad genderswap AU. (Characters and warnings will be updated as the story progresses.)
Notes: Many, many thanks to Elleth for her inspiration, encouragement, and advice. Thanks are also due to the wonderful members of the Lizard Council for their excellent suggestions and proof-reading.
Something was wrong. The girl could read it easily, in the stiffness of her mother's spine as she pulled on her warmest cloak, in the way her father's eyes skittered away when he chanced to catch Ianneth's gaze, and in the taut, awful silence that stretched between them, like a harp string twisted out of tune.
Ianneth bent to help her daughter lace up her shoes, and Ereiniel reached up to touch her mother's hair curiously; instead of being set in its usual complex braids, her dark hair was pulled into a simple plait wrapped around her head like a crown.
"Careful, Ereiniel," Ianneth said. "Don't knock the pins out."
She complied, wondering how far away Eglarest was - Ianneth almost never wore her hair up, not even when they'd gone on long rides to Eithel Sirion before Haru had gone away to Mandos.
Círdan's man arrived in the doorway as Ianneth bundled the girl into her cloak. The wool was scratchy against her skin and Ereiniel couldn't help tugging at the collar. Ianneth reached over and gently caught her hand, shaking her head. Ereiniel frowned, but stopped fussing with her cloak and tried instead to ignore the discomfort.
"The horses are ready, sire," Lassir said. "We should depart soon."
Fingon nodded and crouched down to hold his daughter close. "I'll miss you, mírë," he murmured. She pressed her face against his chest and inhaled his familiar smell, soap and leather and pine needles. "I'll come visit when I can," he continued, "and we shall write to one another, all right?"
Ereiniel nodded miserably and fisted her hands into his tunic, not wanting to let go. "Why can't you come, Ada?" she mumbled.
"Shh." Fingon kissed her lightly on her forehead and she clung to him a little more tightly. "I need to stay in Mithrim to defend the people here," he said. "You'll be safe with your mother and the soldiers. You're my big, strong girl; be brave, mírë."
Círdan's messenger cleared his throat tactfully, and Fingon stood. Ereiniel continued to lean against him, holding his hand, but he nudged her toward Ianneth. "You need to hurry along. Listen to your mother and to Lord Círdan, Ereiniel." He hesitated briefly before addressing his wife. "Stay safe, Ianneth."
"We will," she said, gripping Ereiniel's hand. "You do the same." She and Ereiniel followed Lassir out of the keep and into the chilly mist of the early morning. Ereiniel was suddenly glad for the cloak, even if it was itchy. She held her mother's hand and walked quickly, trying to keep up with Lassir and Ianneth's bigger steps.
"It will be all right," Ianneth told her. "We'll cross the mountains and travel along the river, and when we reach Eglarest you'll see the ocean - won't that be exciting?"
"Maybe. But I wish Ada could come, too."
Ianneth stiffened again, and Ereiniel frowned, chewing on her thumbnail and wondering why her mother was upset. "He has other responsibilities, to his kingdom and his allies," she said tonelessly. "It's best that Lord Círdan foster you."
Ereiniel didn't argue, but she did glance back at the keep, wishing it could stay her home and that Haru had not gone away, forcing Ada to become the King.
"Don't drag your feet," Ianneth interrupted. "We need to leave quickly. Master Lassir will pass you up to me, all right?" When they reached the horses she let go of Ereiniel's hand and mounted her palfrey.
Once Ianneth was seated in the saddle, Lassir placed his hands on Ereiniel's waist. "Up you go, little lady," he said, lifting her into the air and helping settle her in front of her mother. Ianneth wrapped a warm arm around her torso, and Ereinel leaned back and nestled against her, tucking herself under her mother's cloak.
"You'll be all right, my lady?" Lassir asked.
"Yes," said Ianneth. "She's ridden with us before."
Lassir nodded and mounted up, and Fingon's captain signaled to the detachment to depart.
***
"Is it very much further?" Ereiniel asked quietly, fidgeting and peering through the trees to catch glimpses of the river. The long days confined to her mother's saddle had left the girl restless and antsy, her mother seemed perpetually on edge, and the quiet, watchful guards were a sharp change from her father's relaxed good humor.
"Several more days," Ianneth answered. "We need to follow the river all the way to the coast. And don't squirm, Ereiniel; I don't want you to fall."
"But there's a bird, Nana, look!" she said, pointing through a gap in the underbrush. "Wow, it's tall!"
"It's a heron. Now sit still." Ianneth caught her daughter by the waist and yanked her back into the saddle.
"But Nana, why-"
"Hush!" Ianneth snapped. "The guards need to be alert, and your distractions won't help them. Stop fidgeting and be quiet."
Stunned, Ereiniel shrank down in her seat and bit her lip to keep it from trembling; her mother usually answered questions, and she never, ever yelled. She ran her thumb over a bit of saddle in front of her and stayed silent, hoping that wouldn't vex Ianneth further.
She was glad for the opportunity to move when they finally halted to set up camp. While her mother went to fetch water she slipped away, trying her best to stretch without getting underfoot, but after a few near-collisions Lassir pulled her aside.
"Come watch how a campfire is started," he said, drawing her over. He erected a cone of firewood and placed some bark shavings in the center. "What do you think those are for?"
"Ada and Nana showed me how they start campfires; that's kindling," Ereiniel answered. "I used to gather it for Ada."
"Did you?" Lassir looked surprised.
She nodded. "When we went to see Haru. That's Ada's Ada. This trip is longer, though." She chewed her thumb and tilted her head to look up at him. "You talk funny."
Lassir laughed, and she smiled tentatively. "That's because I'm from the Falas, while you and your mother are from Hithlum," he said. "We speak different dialects. You'll find that the people in Eglarest mostly sound like me - but if you were to meet any of the Iathrim or the Laegrim, they would speak differently from both of us." He struck his flint to set light to the tinder and smiled at her. "To my ears even your name sounds odd - we would say Erainiel."
Ereiniel pondered this, frowning thoughtfully as she watched the flames creep up the firewood proper. "Does that mean I'll have to change it?" she asked after a few moments. "Because Nana gave it to me and I like it better than Rodnoreth, so I don't want to."
He laughed again. "Not if you don't want to, no. It's your name to keep or change as you see fit."
"Do you like your name?"
"I do," he said. "My father named me; I was born right along this river."
"Really?" Ereiniel's eyes widened and she looked around curiously. "So is this your home? Do your parents live here?"
Lassir shook his head. "No, they live in Eglarest like me. We traveled there when I was a young; it was safer. That's the same reason you and your mother are headed there."
Ereiniel pondered this, but before she could ask another question Ianneth returned and set down her pail of water beside the fire pit. "Come, Ereiniel," she said, gently taking her daughter's hand and giving Lassir a brief smile. "Leave Master Lassir to his work. I found some mushrooms you'll like; let's go help prepare dinner."
***
"I hope she wasn't troubling you earlier," Ianneth said, cradling her sleeping daughter in her lap as she sat near the fire, grateful for its warmth.
Lassir shook his head. "She was no bother. Inquisitive, certainly, and energetic, but those are not necessarily bad traits."
"Just inconvenient ones during long trips." Ianneth brushed some stray down from Ereiniel's forehead and drew her cloak closer around them with a pang of guilt. "She'll be better once we reach Eglarest and she's free to run about."
"How old is she?" Lassir asked, prodding aside a piece of the log that threatened to smother the flames
"Eleven."
"That's very young to leave home," he said quietly.
"It couldn't be helped. Fingon is right - Mithrim is no longer a place for a family." Ianneth frowned slightly, eyes on the fire, until Ereiniel stirred in her sleep. "I should take her to bed," Ianneth said. "I will see you in the morning."
"And you. Sleep well, my lady."
Ianneth stood and carried Ereiniel to their tent, where she settled the girl into the bedroll before taking off her own cloak and lying down beside her. Her breath tickled Ianneth's cheek, and she wriggled closer, seeking her mother's warmth. Ianneth wrapped one arm around her and wiped at her eyes, resolving that she would not snap at her daughter again.
Resolutions used to be less difficult to keep, she thought, remembering the one she had made that last night in Dor-lómin..
***
"Bedtime, mírë," Fingon had said, scooping the girl up and resting her on his hip. She giggled and caught her hand in the back of his tunic. "I'll tuck you in," he continued. "You have an early morning, and Nana needs to finish packing."
Ianneth him a quick smile in thanks and embraced them both, kissing Ereiniel on the cheek. "Goodnight," she said.
"'Night, Nana," Ereiniel answered, leaning her head against Fingon's shoulder. Ianneth turned back to the bed as they left the room, where she had been sorting out and folding the clothes she would need to bring to Eglarest. She absently smoothed a wrinkle from their quilt and considered the piles before her. The heaviest clothes, she knew, could be left behind - the Falas had milder winters than Mithrim - but she would need her warm wool cloak for at least part of the journey. That she would wear; the lighter one would need to be packed, but it hadn't been in the chest with her other summer clothes. She frowned and went to the second chest; maybe it had been mixed in with Fingon's clothing by mistake.
She opened the carved lid and inhaled, savoring the cedar-wood's aroma. It wasn't folded on top with Fingon's cloak, so she lifted the stack of garments out to lay it on the bed. As she set it down, something crinkled under her hand and fell to the floor with a rustle of parchment. She bent, retrieved the small pile of papers, and went to put them back in the chest, but froze, the blood draining from her face.
Three letters, written in a slightly smudged hand that she knew - of course she knew it; Fingon received enough missives from his cousin that she'd have to be a fool not to recognize it. She squinted at the tengwar, but they were incomprehensible, written in the Noldor's mother-tongue.
They would have been innocuous enough if not for the lurid drawings that accompanied them. She gaped for a moment before dropping the sketches back into the chest, and crumpled the letters in her fist, flushing with both embarrassment and anger. It explained everything - the daring rescue, the tension between the cousins at their wedding, Fingon's moodiness surrounding his trips to Himring, and his excessive efforts to make up for his sullenness.
When he entered the room she rounded on him, trembling. "You vile, lying weasel!" she hissed, feeling her face heat as she threw the letters at his feet. "How could you?"
He paled and hurriedly reached behind him to close the door. "Ianneth-"
"I want an answer!" she snapped, digging her nails into her palms and fighting back an anguished cry. "How could you do this to us? To me?"
"Ianneth, please-"
"No!" The tears came, then, and she dashed at them angrily. "Are you so unhappy with me that you can't manage what every other wedded man in Arda does?" Fingon reached for her arm and she pulled away, snapping, "Don't touch me!"
He dropped his hand and briefly closed his eyes. "Ianneth, it wasn't about us," he said quietly. "Please believe me. It wasn't anything about you - I love you. It-"
"Why should I believe you now? You've been lying to me for nearly sixteen years." She wiped again at her eyes and pointed to the door. "Out. Get out! You can come back when I've finished packing."
"All right," Fingon said unsteadily, bending to pick up the letters. "All right. I'll go, and then later we'll talk."
Ianneth kept her eyes on him until the door closed, and then sank down on the floor beside the bed, shaking, and pressed her face against their quilt to muffle her sobs. How could he betray her like this? How could she have misjudged him so badly?
After a time, she had wiped her eyes on the quilt's blue edge and stood, taking deep breaths to calm herself enough to pack. She'd finally found the cloak folded in with Fingon's tunics, and had finished sorting the other garments before retreating down the hall to Ereiniel's room. Thankfully, the girl had been asleep; she'd settled carefully on the bed beside her, resolving not to cry again.
This entry was originally posted at http://grey-gazania.dreamwidth.org/470522.html. Please comment there.
Author:
grey_gazania
Rating: G
Characters: Ereiniel Gil-galad, Fingon, OCs
Warnings: None
Summary: Fingolfin has been killed by Morgoth, and Fingon finds himself the High King of a people still reeling from the carnage of the Dagor Bragollach. Concerned for the safety of his family, he arranges for his daughter, Ereiniel, to move to Círdan's coastal city, Eglarest. A Gil-galad genderswap AU. (Characters and warnings will be updated as the story progresses.)
Notes: Many, many thanks to Elleth for her inspiration, encouragement, and advice. Thanks are also due to the wonderful members of the Lizard Council for their excellent suggestions and proof-reading.
Something was wrong. The girl could read it easily, in the stiffness of her mother's spine as she pulled on her warmest cloak, in the way her father's eyes skittered away when he chanced to catch Ianneth's gaze, and in the taut, awful silence that stretched between them, like a harp string twisted out of tune.
Ianneth bent to help her daughter lace up her shoes, and Ereiniel reached up to touch her mother's hair curiously; instead of being set in its usual complex braids, her dark hair was pulled into a simple plait wrapped around her head like a crown.
"Careful, Ereiniel," Ianneth said. "Don't knock the pins out."
She complied, wondering how far away Eglarest was - Ianneth almost never wore her hair up, not even when they'd gone on long rides to Eithel Sirion before Haru had gone away to Mandos.
Círdan's man arrived in the doorway as Ianneth bundled the girl into her cloak. The wool was scratchy against her skin and Ereiniel couldn't help tugging at the collar. Ianneth reached over and gently caught her hand, shaking her head. Ereiniel frowned, but stopped fussing with her cloak and tried instead to ignore the discomfort.
"The horses are ready, sire," Lassir said. "We should depart soon."
Fingon nodded and crouched down to hold his daughter close. "I'll miss you, mírë," he murmured. She pressed her face against his chest and inhaled his familiar smell, soap and leather and pine needles. "I'll come visit when I can," he continued, "and we shall write to one another, all right?"
Ereiniel nodded miserably and fisted her hands into his tunic, not wanting to let go. "Why can't you come, Ada?" she mumbled.
"Shh." Fingon kissed her lightly on her forehead and she clung to him a little more tightly. "I need to stay in Mithrim to defend the people here," he said. "You'll be safe with your mother and the soldiers. You're my big, strong girl; be brave, mírë."
Círdan's messenger cleared his throat tactfully, and Fingon stood. Ereiniel continued to lean against him, holding his hand, but he nudged her toward Ianneth. "You need to hurry along. Listen to your mother and to Lord Círdan, Ereiniel." He hesitated briefly before addressing his wife. "Stay safe, Ianneth."
"We will," she said, gripping Ereiniel's hand. "You do the same." She and Ereiniel followed Lassir out of the keep and into the chilly mist of the early morning. Ereiniel was suddenly glad for the cloak, even if it was itchy. She held her mother's hand and walked quickly, trying to keep up with Lassir and Ianneth's bigger steps.
"It will be all right," Ianneth told her. "We'll cross the mountains and travel along the river, and when we reach Eglarest you'll see the ocean - won't that be exciting?"
"Maybe. But I wish Ada could come, too."
Ianneth stiffened again, and Ereiniel frowned, chewing on her thumbnail and wondering why her mother was upset. "He has other responsibilities, to his kingdom and his allies," she said tonelessly. "It's best that Lord Círdan foster you."
Ereiniel didn't argue, but she did glance back at the keep, wishing it could stay her home and that Haru had not gone away, forcing Ada to become the King.
"Don't drag your feet," Ianneth interrupted. "We need to leave quickly. Master Lassir will pass you up to me, all right?" When they reached the horses she let go of Ereiniel's hand and mounted her palfrey.
Once Ianneth was seated in the saddle, Lassir placed his hands on Ereiniel's waist. "Up you go, little lady," he said, lifting her into the air and helping settle her in front of her mother. Ianneth wrapped a warm arm around her torso, and Ereinel leaned back and nestled against her, tucking herself under her mother's cloak.
"You'll be all right, my lady?" Lassir asked.
"Yes," said Ianneth. "She's ridden with us before."
Lassir nodded and mounted up, and Fingon's captain signaled to the detachment to depart.
***
"Is it very much further?" Ereiniel asked quietly, fidgeting and peering through the trees to catch glimpses of the river. The long days confined to her mother's saddle had left the girl restless and antsy, her mother seemed perpetually on edge, and the quiet, watchful guards were a sharp change from her father's relaxed good humor.
"Several more days," Ianneth answered. "We need to follow the river all the way to the coast. And don't squirm, Ereiniel; I don't want you to fall."
"But there's a bird, Nana, look!" she said, pointing through a gap in the underbrush. "Wow, it's tall!"
"It's a heron. Now sit still." Ianneth caught her daughter by the waist and yanked her back into the saddle.
"But Nana, why-"
"Hush!" Ianneth snapped. "The guards need to be alert, and your distractions won't help them. Stop fidgeting and be quiet."
Stunned, Ereiniel shrank down in her seat and bit her lip to keep it from trembling; her mother usually answered questions, and she never, ever yelled. She ran her thumb over a bit of saddle in front of her and stayed silent, hoping that wouldn't vex Ianneth further.
She was glad for the opportunity to move when they finally halted to set up camp. While her mother went to fetch water she slipped away, trying her best to stretch without getting underfoot, but after a few near-collisions Lassir pulled her aside.
"Come watch how a campfire is started," he said, drawing her over. He erected a cone of firewood and placed some bark shavings in the center. "What do you think those are for?"
"Ada and Nana showed me how they start campfires; that's kindling," Ereiniel answered. "I used to gather it for Ada."
"Did you?" Lassir looked surprised.
She nodded. "When we went to see Haru. That's Ada's Ada. This trip is longer, though." She chewed her thumb and tilted her head to look up at him. "You talk funny."
Lassir laughed, and she smiled tentatively. "That's because I'm from the Falas, while you and your mother are from Hithlum," he said. "We speak different dialects. You'll find that the people in Eglarest mostly sound like me - but if you were to meet any of the Iathrim or the Laegrim, they would speak differently from both of us." He struck his flint to set light to the tinder and smiled at her. "To my ears even your name sounds odd - we would say Erainiel."
Ereiniel pondered this, frowning thoughtfully as she watched the flames creep up the firewood proper. "Does that mean I'll have to change it?" she asked after a few moments. "Because Nana gave it to me and I like it better than Rodnoreth, so I don't want to."
He laughed again. "Not if you don't want to, no. It's your name to keep or change as you see fit."
"Do you like your name?"
"I do," he said. "My father named me; I was born right along this river."
"Really?" Ereiniel's eyes widened and she looked around curiously. "So is this your home? Do your parents live here?"
Lassir shook his head. "No, they live in Eglarest like me. We traveled there when I was a young; it was safer. That's the same reason you and your mother are headed there."
Ereiniel pondered this, but before she could ask another question Ianneth returned and set down her pail of water beside the fire pit. "Come, Ereiniel," she said, gently taking her daughter's hand and giving Lassir a brief smile. "Leave Master Lassir to his work. I found some mushrooms you'll like; let's go help prepare dinner."
***
"I hope she wasn't troubling you earlier," Ianneth said, cradling her sleeping daughter in her lap as she sat near the fire, grateful for its warmth.
Lassir shook his head. "She was no bother. Inquisitive, certainly, and energetic, but those are not necessarily bad traits."
"Just inconvenient ones during long trips." Ianneth brushed some stray down from Ereiniel's forehead and drew her cloak closer around them with a pang of guilt. "She'll be better once we reach Eglarest and she's free to run about."
"How old is she?" Lassir asked, prodding aside a piece of the log that threatened to smother the flames
"Eleven."
"That's very young to leave home," he said quietly.
"It couldn't be helped. Fingon is right - Mithrim is no longer a place for a family." Ianneth frowned slightly, eyes on the fire, until Ereiniel stirred in her sleep. "I should take her to bed," Ianneth said. "I will see you in the morning."
"And you. Sleep well, my lady."
Ianneth stood and carried Ereiniel to their tent, where she settled the girl into the bedroll before taking off her own cloak and lying down beside her. Her breath tickled Ianneth's cheek, and she wriggled closer, seeking her mother's warmth. Ianneth wrapped one arm around her and wiped at her eyes, resolving that she would not snap at her daughter again.
Resolutions used to be less difficult to keep, she thought, remembering the one she had made that last night in Dor-lómin..
***
"Bedtime, mírë," Fingon had said, scooping the girl up and resting her on his hip. She giggled and caught her hand in the back of his tunic. "I'll tuck you in," he continued. "You have an early morning, and Nana needs to finish packing."
Ianneth him a quick smile in thanks and embraced them both, kissing Ereiniel on the cheek. "Goodnight," she said.
"'Night, Nana," Ereiniel answered, leaning her head against Fingon's shoulder. Ianneth turned back to the bed as they left the room, where she had been sorting out and folding the clothes she would need to bring to Eglarest. She absently smoothed a wrinkle from their quilt and considered the piles before her. The heaviest clothes, she knew, could be left behind - the Falas had milder winters than Mithrim - but she would need her warm wool cloak for at least part of the journey. That she would wear; the lighter one would need to be packed, but it hadn't been in the chest with her other summer clothes. She frowned and went to the second chest; maybe it had been mixed in with Fingon's clothing by mistake.
She opened the carved lid and inhaled, savoring the cedar-wood's aroma. It wasn't folded on top with Fingon's cloak, so she lifted the stack of garments out to lay it on the bed. As she set it down, something crinkled under her hand and fell to the floor with a rustle of parchment. She bent, retrieved the small pile of papers, and went to put them back in the chest, but froze, the blood draining from her face.
Three letters, written in a slightly smudged hand that she knew - of course she knew it; Fingon received enough missives from his cousin that she'd have to be a fool not to recognize it. She squinted at the tengwar, but they were incomprehensible, written in the Noldor's mother-tongue.
They would have been innocuous enough if not for the lurid drawings that accompanied them. She gaped for a moment before dropping the sketches back into the chest, and crumpled the letters in her fist, flushing with both embarrassment and anger. It explained everything - the daring rescue, the tension between the cousins at their wedding, Fingon's moodiness surrounding his trips to Himring, and his excessive efforts to make up for his sullenness.
When he entered the room she rounded on him, trembling. "You vile, lying weasel!" she hissed, feeling her face heat as she threw the letters at his feet. "How could you?"
He paled and hurriedly reached behind him to close the door. "Ianneth-"
"I want an answer!" she snapped, digging her nails into her palms and fighting back an anguished cry. "How could you do this to us? To me?"
"Ianneth, please-"
"No!" The tears came, then, and she dashed at them angrily. "Are you so unhappy with me that you can't manage what every other wedded man in Arda does?" Fingon reached for her arm and she pulled away, snapping, "Don't touch me!"
He dropped his hand and briefly closed his eyes. "Ianneth, it wasn't about us," he said quietly. "Please believe me. It wasn't anything about you - I love you. It-"
"Why should I believe you now? You've been lying to me for nearly sixteen years." She wiped again at her eyes and pointed to the door. "Out. Get out! You can come back when I've finished packing."
"All right," Fingon said unsteadily, bending to pick up the letters. "All right. I'll go, and then later we'll talk."
Ianneth kept her eyes on him until the door closed, and then sank down on the floor beside the bed, shaking, and pressed her face against their quilt to muffle her sobs. How could he betray her like this? How could she have misjudged him so badly?
After a time, she had wiped her eyes on the quilt's blue edge and stood, taking deep breaths to calm herself enough to pack. She'd finally found the cloak folded in with Fingon's tunics, and had finished sorting the other garments before retreating down the hall to Ereiniel's room. Thankfully, the girl had been asleep; she'd settled carefully on the bed beside her, resolving not to cry again.
This entry was originally posted at http://grey-gazania.dreamwidth.org/470522.html. Please comment there.