AN: This Christmas/Hanukkah/very belated Mawlid/any other holiday of your choice gift is a little late, but still, I wish you all a great one!
(This ficlet is very much a Nolde verse thing. I mean, feel free to read it if you're into *spoilers* reembodiment Fingon/OFC *spoilers*, but knowing the female character certainly helps. It's just a bit of holiday fluff.)
-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-
It was an ordinary day, or at least as ordinary as any day in Tol Eresseä could be. A few hundred years ago, Amonel would not have believed such a thing to be possible. Her opinion of the Valar was very much the same as her uncle's, and she was not cowering in excessive respect of them, but still, lands beyond the Sea had been shrouded in mystery of their bliss to her. Nothing about it, she had thought, could ever been ordinary.
But that was a hundreds of years ago. Now, she was a trusted advisor to Lord Cairon, High King Olwë's governor of the island, and Tol Eresseä was her home. There was a new kind of ordinary to go with this new place. The centuries spent here were not enough by far to wash away the memory of the millennia on the other shore, with the constant threat of war and death hanging over their heads, but it was enough for the newness to fade somewhat.
Back across the Sea, she still remembered, Men were now celebrating that the longest night of the year was passing. But such celebrations were never as important to the elves, and here in the West, they lost all import, for there was nothing to fear in the night, and winter frost did not touch them. And so, in Tol Eresseä, it was an ordinary day.
There was a knock at the door of her study, and a messenger entered. "My lady," he said, "there is a lord's ship coming to the havens."
Amonel only nodded, and rose from her desk. One of her duties was welcoming any noble visitors to the island, and providing accommodation for them if they needed it. Every time a ship like that came, she hoped it would be a lost friend coming on it, and every time, she was disappointed.
She knew why, of course. Most who were close to her have sailed West at the same time she did. There were only two left in the East whom she loved dearly. The first was her uncle, who she suspected would remain with Middle-Earth until its very end, for he loved its shores and coastal waters so much and only Arminas being too tired could perhaps convince him to return a little earlier.
The second was Galadriel. That lady's reasons for remaining were more of a mystery to Amonel. She could see, when she had been departing, the deep longing her friend had for the West. Yet Galadriel remained. Perhaps it was some premonition that she would be needed in the next war. Perhaps it was merely responsibility she forever felt for the lands of Middle-Earth. Whatever the reason, she would not come, and neither would Círdan, and so Amonel hated the hope she always felt when she heard of a lord's ship coming to Avallonë. Still, the tug on her heart was there, every time, reminding her that even in the Blessed Lands, she was a little lonely.
She wrestled with these thoughts as she descended to the port to look for the ship. The seas were empty where she looked, however, and not even when sent her eyes further could she spot a vessel on the Straight Road. It was only then that she realized it was not a lord coming from the East, but one from Valinor proper.
Likely, it was just some courtier of King Olwë coming with messages from the monarch, and Amonel wondered why she was called instead of one of those whose responsibility it was to receive them...but then she noticed the colours the ship was flying.
This was not one of King Olwë's courtiers.
The Noldor from Valinor did not come to Tol Eresseä very often, and Noldorin lords even less so. And Noldorin lords with those particular colours? Hardly ever.
Was Lord Fingolfin coming to visit, she wondered? In those centuries she lived in Tol Eresseä, he had only done so once. Lady Idril? But she had different colours, did she not? And so did Lord Eärendil, and besides, his ship would have been easily recognized. But still Amonel kept running through different members of that house in her mind, trying desperately to stave of the hope that was blooming in her, feeling like she could not bear that disappointment.
Lady Anairë, she told herself. It must be. By far the most likely.
But then the ship finally reached the port.
Instead of the usual small army of lesser lordings and assistants that tended to appear on the deck whenever someone important came, there was just one solitary figure now. Against the sharp blaze of the sun low above the horizon, Amonel could not see him too well, but she saw the black hair, and the…silver?...shining in it.
She took a reluctant step closer.
So did he, stepping onto the brow.
There were the broad shoulders now, too, or broad for an elf, and with another step she recognized the way he carried himself, and then the familiar shape of the ears.
The closer he was, the clearer his identity became, and soon, there was no way she could still lie to herself and tears of joy sprang into her eyes even as he finally, finally stepped onto the land and said, softly: „Ambë?"
She laughed through her tears. „No one has called me that for a very long time."
„I am sorry," he said immediately.
„No, do not be," she replied, shaking her head and still laughing. „It reminds me of past ages. It is…good to hear."
„Is it?" He asked. „The past ages were not good. Not for us, not for anyone."
„They were good because you were alive," she told him quietly, and saw that he was crying now, too. She held out her arms, and he stepped into her embrace.
They stood like that for a long time, getting used to each other's presence again, adjusting to the fact that they even could hold each other. People passed them, Avallonë inhabitants on important business of commerce and politics, but the two reunited elves did not see, too wrapped up in each other, in the closeness, in the grace of a reunion.
„Do you know," he said after what were perhaps hours, „that this is our first embrace?"
They were both laughing and crying now, and they sank to the ground, not strong enough to stay on their feet any more.
„You have had to wait so long for me," he muttered, apology in his voice. „So very long."
„I did," she agreed. „And I missed you every day."
„As I did you. Even before I died."
There were more tears, and more laughter. They let go of each other only to hold hands and gaze into the eyes they had not seen for so long. And still they sat there, continuing in ignorance of the many inhabitants of Avallonë who now stared at the past King and the Lord's advisor locked in what was clearly a lovers' meeting.
Amonel touched the silver ribbons that decorated his hair. „Why the change?" She asked.
„You know why," he answered, pressing her hands tighter.
„I love you," she said, enjoying how easily she could do so now even as it made more tears spring into his eyes, and hers, „but I do not wish to replace your closest friend in your heart."
„And I love you," he replied. "And when Nerwen returns West, I will gladly braid gold into my hair again, in her honour. But now I want to be yours, and only yours. Let me repay the debt of millennia that I owe you. Nothing else matters now. Only you."
And so they sat there as the sun neared the horizon, and when Eärendil set his sail, he looked upon his great uncle and the joy he felt made his light seem to shine all that brighter in that longest night of the year.