Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the characters and the plot and the ships.
Pairings: Turgon x Elenwë (and some Tuor x Idril in the making)
Characters: Turgon, Elenwë?, Manwë (mentions of Idril, Tuor, Arien (Vása), the Valar and Ilúvatar)
Warning: canon-compliant, canon character death, fluff, possible delusions (but let's be nice about it)
Song: Seal of the Wind
Words: 915
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breeze (noun): a light, gentle wind
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/breeze
Anyone who thought that King Turukáno built a giant tower stretching into the open sky in order to be alone was an imbecile
To the contrary, it was quite the opposite which drove him to demand the giant stone tower to be erected at the center of his hidden kingdom. It was not to escape his subjects or his daughter or anyone else, and it was certainly not to be alone with his thoughts.
At the very idea, Turukáno scoffed and opened his eyes. His hands rested upon the railing of his balcony overlooking the city, and the King still felt slightly awed at the sight even after so many years of seeing it every morning and every evening. In the light of the fading vessel of Vása, his city burned a brilliant bone white, the streets lined in reflected gold, the water dancing so many yards below him in the fountain, liquid fire and sunlight. And the people moved amongst their brethren, their voices just barely echoing up to reach his ears as they carried on with their daily lives, safe and protected from the darkness abroad.
But even this visage of peace was not what drew him to such lofty heights in the air.
It was the breeze.
So close to the sky, he felt as if another world eclipsed the hell that governed his reality. With the land stretched out before him and the tower at his back, he could almost imagine that there was a thin veil between him and all below him, a barrier between earthly and divine. He could look up into the blue hues of the sky and imagine that nothing existed beyond the color and the drifting clouds.
He could feel the cool touch against his cheek and imagine, just for a moment, that it was not the wind that caressed his flesh, but a familiar hand, pale and soft, stroking up over his cheekbone and through his hair.
By Ilúvatar, he missed her like he would miss his own arm! Seeing their daughter grown into a blossoming woman with suitors striving for her hand did nothing to quell his loneliness and longing, for Itarillë was her mother's daughter in face and form, if not temperament. She was so very beautiful, and he wished so badly that her mother was there to see her, to guide her. The Valar only knew Turukáno hadn't a clue where to start!
Sighing deeply at the touch on his face, Turukáno opened his eyes. "Our daughter is grown," he began, wondering for what felt like the millionth time if his words would reach his wife's ears so far away, riding upon the blessed winds of Manwë. "I fear she is in love."
He shook his head, glancing down at the lively city below. "Silly, I know, but I worry for her. Even though she has yet said nothing of it, I know she will have none of the elven lords vying for her affections. She has eyes for only one man--an Atan! And I--fool that I am--haven't the heart to forbid her.
"I would that you were here. You always know what to say, would have the right advice for both of us, I am certain." Again, the cool touch across his face, and Turukáno gulped, feeling hope swell in his chest. "They call me the wise, but my wisdom never even held a candle to yours."
He paused to enjoy the connection--the gentleness and beauty that he recalled vividly in his memories--for a long moment before continuing. "I expect a wedding upon the horizon, and soon. Atani do not live for very long, and we are in a time of peace for the moment. Mayhap, within the next year or so, we may have a grandchild. Already... so soon... I'm sure you would love them, and you would probably be fond of Tuor as well. The boy is honorable, and a worthy match. Our daughter will be happy..." His voice died away, choked. If he ignored the sounds below and the feel of stone beneath his fingers, he could almost imagine that she was standing right there next to him, her gentle hand on his forearm, her head against his shoulder.
Biting his lip, Turukáno looked up at the sky again. If he dared a glance towards her, he knew she would disappear like a phantom, a dream in the fading light of day. "If you can hear me... I just want you to know that I miss you. And love you. Terribly and dearly. My heart still and always will belong to you, my Elenwë."
As if in reply, the caress returned, sweeping down the side of his face, playfully across his nose and washing over his brows, soothing away the furrow between them. Maybe he imagined the brush against his lips, a silent little "I love you, too", invisible and intangible, yet more real than anything in the world.
Turning away, Turukáno approached the steps, slipping past the thin curtains, only for the breeze to tug gently at his sleeve just once more. A small smile worked its way onto his lips.
"I shall return in the morning," he whispered, pausing for one more backward glance at the wide open sky fading into gold and scarlet, the first stars just barely peeking out from the shadows of the falling night.
And then he descended back to earth.
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Fluffy romance, if you can call it that. Does this fall under tragedy? It's hard to tell...
Anyway, love this pairing even though sometimes I write Turgon as an ass (because I can imagine him being one sometimes). And now I look forward to writing more Elenwë, because she totally needs more love. Here <3: Elenwë by ~kittykatkanie on dA (my delightful older brother). And I once again skipped over Maeglin. I wonder if Turgon has noticed that his nephew is totally in love with his daughter.
Uh... Right, so the (awesome, amazing, beautiful, glorious) song that I've been listening to non-stop for about three hours now (because I can) is Seal of the Wind (aka The Three Trails) by Nobuo Uematsu. This is but one version of it. The piano version is amazing (I should know, I play it pretty much every day and still have yet to get sick of hearing it), but I should warn you that it has seven flats. Pain in the ass to learn, but sooooooo worth it.
And I shall end here and not allow myself to moon over this piece any longer. Besides, I really do have a theology paper to finish writing tonight *sighs*.
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