Happy Femslash February!!
Hoping to do 3 more of these pieces for y’all, and here’s the first! HaruMichi!
I dont yet know how I’m going to be offering these pieces to y’all and right now I’m on vacation but when I get back 👀
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times happened when aredhel escaped the confines of eöl's dominion, moving through the briars and the moss-faced oaks, long enough to find a slant in the high canopy.
a small fault, a breach; a fir eaten through with termites, dying slowly as it slowly slouched to death.
it was enough. arien was greedy for even a glimpse - her upturned face, her mouth open hungrily, her arms raised up. only a few instants, of course, before the mists rose; but o, arien did not relent.
arien had gathered the dew of laurelin, and lived as flame beyond smothering; and in times long past had loved the white lady of the noldor many times.
she loved her still. if it was an indulgence, then she was foolish; if it was pity, she made it a gift.
aredhel had lit a great fire in her honour, there where the helcaraxe met the northern lands, loose grass and kindling and her own braids for fuel, and around it danced as once she had danced arm-in-arm with arien, in vána's gardens, and around the two trees of valinor.
she, fingolfin's daughter, had hunted a great elk, and fed its heart to the fire; she had jumped three times over the leaping flames, and laughed, and with her burned palms praised arien's flames and fires, the fire that was arien herself.
how was arien not to love her?
nan elmoth had its own will, and its own master. it pressed her out, again and again.
through black boughs and clinging shadows, she had pressed on. in the dark; in a place shrouded from her gaze, where parasitical mushrooms grew atop one another, and many birds lived and died flying only inside the cage of its tall, tall branches.
arien sought her out in the places where she was not loved. where melian's power lingered still, twisted and altered, streams of sunlight intruded.
arien did not relent. she might never conquer this place, but anar her vessel rose, day after day. its work was the unmaking of darkness, and darkness existed well beyond morgoth's fortress.
and it was well worth the effort of many fruitless dawns, for when she did succeed.
a hundred kisses she pressed to her cheeks, when riding fast as the wind aredhel broke the siege of nan elmoth; a dozen times she burned her cheeks with eager welcome, and laid a warm breeze like a warm palm upon her son's squinting, frowning brow.
they buried aredhel in the sunlight. a high noon, relentless against gondolin's white walls, sinking greedy through ar-feiniel's white tomb of marble. not a thousand dawns could have warmed it through - not all of arien's might have pressed again the warmth upon aredhel's cold mouth.
it was a day of strange flaring lights, like comets in sunlight. the poets claimed, not falsely, that high above, beyond the heavens, arien wept.
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