Their story is one of tragedy. Want to know a bit more? Read below on my characters :00
On the eve of their anniversary, dancing around the bookstore to old records, Liam cannot wait. He just can’t. Another 24 hours and he would’ve burst. So, he stops. He falls to his knees, and asks Sarah to marry him. Her first reaction is to laugh, “Why the hell did it take you SO long??”. They’re practically an old married couple already.
Life for three days, only three days, are magical. Then Sarah leaves for business. And never comes back.
The door opens at three in the morning, the town sheriff and deputy are there. Liam already knows what had happened, the flight should’ve been an hour. She was going to call him when she landed. He’s left 20 voicemails. His cry into the night woke up the dogs in a five block radius.
And all that was left were the solemn howls of hounds.
Alright kids, so as promised this is the first of my kind of saga about my little Noble Noldor family called The House of the Golden Flower (or the Dandelions) and all their woes and dramas. This is mostly OC based and OC heavy with some cameos from the canon. Sixty and Pregnant is a tale of young love and idiotic elves, about a couple and their unexpected bundle of joy. I won't say anything further without spoiling it. If you do like this, please 'like' it or leave a comment so I can gauge the response and see if I'll make this a regular thing. So without further ado, Sixty and Pregnant:
Ciliwendë could only hope that looks could kill in a moment like this.
“Married?” She hissed at her baby brother.
“Yeah…” Culuhend looked at her with a bewildered stare. “Yeah we didn’t want to wait and kinda…”
“You married Olwë’s daughter!” Ciliwendë roared, her fist coming down on the large wooden table, the silverware rattling under the force of a blacksmith’s strike. It was the only thing preventing her from throttling the very person who was supposed to keep her out of trouble. “I leave you for a godamned second and you go and stick your prick in Olwë’s daughter.”
“She asked me to!” he protested.
Ciliwendë’s eyes went wide at the confirmation that her brother had indeed, consummated the marriage. “You fucked Olwë’s daughter!” She accused.
“It was really nice out on the beach and she wanted to do it!” He objected.
“Then you say no, Culuhend! You say no, sorry, not today. We’re young teens with raging hormones and whatever, let’s not fuck, let’s think a bit before getting married to godamn Olwë’s daughter.” She hissed through clenched teeth, fingers digging into the wood, ready to rocket herself across the table and beat him so hard that she’d put the fear of Mandos into him. “For Eru’s sake, Culuhend, she’s not even fifty. She is just a child and you are a grown ass man and you go and marry her!”
“She… she really wanted to get married?” The look on Culuhend’s face screwed up into a look of confusion crossed with shame. It was a look he wore a lot.
“You. Say. No. Thank you. No thank you, Olwë’s daughter, let’s court a bit and wait because Olwë is a fucking king and she’s a fucking princess she’s Falmari royalty and we’re staying here as guests and you just met her a week agoandnowyou’re godamnmarried.”
Culuhend looked at his sister with a look of concern as her face went a bright red and then purple. “Cili…?”
“What?”
“You should maybe calm down.”
“I AM CALM!” She shrieked, flipping the tray filled with sweet fruits in her brother’s face. Somewhere in the depths of the ocean Ossë considered taking on an apprentice in the form of one Ciliwendë Laurënárë.
Culuhend jumped out of his chair, flailing and ungracefully smacking away a lemon that flew straight for his face. “Okay!” He shouted, scrambling out of his chair to cower behind it. “Okay you’re clam, I see that! Now that you’re very obviously calm, what do you suggest we do?” he asked, pale honey eyes peeking out from behind a relief carving of a shell, afraid of his sister’s wrath.
Ciliwendë’s amber eyes flashed in the gold of Laurëlin. “I tell you what I do. You’re not doing shit until mom and dad get here.” Her voice was quiet. Culuhend didn’t know if that was more terrifying than her shouting. “I will lock you in your room myself, and if I have to nail the door to the everloving frame I will do so, Culuhend.” She growled, approaching him slowly and rounding the table like a wild cat about to pounce on its prey. Culuhend took the hint and circled his chair, crouching behind the seat, shaking like a poor animal. “And until the time when mom and dad arrive, I will try and sort out this nightmare of a situation. You are not to be seen or heard from unless upon mine or Olwë’s orders.” Ciliwendë paused, her hands grabbing the chair and throwing it aside, leaving Culuhend vulnerable to attack. “Do you understand!?” she hissed.
Her baby brother shrieked and cowered into a tight ball on the floor. A moment passed before he stared up at her with wide eyes and nodded in terror. Poor thing, he was shaking under her glare, so young, so green. For a moment Ciliwendë felt herself softening up and Culuhend noticed, unfurling himself from his protective crouch. “S-sister?”
Ciliwendë let out what could only be a battle cry and launched herself at Culuhend, delighting in the fact that he yelped and skittered across the floor like a scared animal.
~*~
Later that night, after Ciliwendë had built a wall of furniture outside the door to Culuhend’s guest room (Olwë’s steward insisted that she didn’t ruin the door frame by nailing into it), our village idiot found himself alone. His sister had gone off to have talks with Olwë on their family’s behalf and he had a plan. What she didn’t count on was the fact that Culuhend was an avid climber. One of the best in Tirion, in fact. In all her haste to repair the relations between the noble House of the Golden Flower and the King of the Falmari, Ciliwendë didn’t bar his window. Actually, she left it wide open.
In reality, the drop down from his window wasn’t all that far. White stone proved to be a sturdy base for building on sand, and the rest was all structural lattice work made to look like lace carved out of stone. Easy to hold onto and easy to climb down. Culuhend swung down from his window ledge, dressed in a dark blue tunic so as to blend in with the night. He made quick time climbing down one of the many spiral shaped towers of Olwë’s manor, like a spider on a wall, scurrying down into the underbrush of the wide gardens that spanned the estate. Swift as a deer, he made his way through familiar paths stripping his blue outer tunic to the white one he wore beneath, ditching it in a bush. He’d blend in with the white walls as he made the longer ascent to Alquamíriel’s room.
Olwë’s tower wasn’t hard to miss. The tallest and grandest in his manor, its white stone walls and sweeping balconies were encrusted with pearls and pale jewels so that when the trees were alight, it glittered like a crown. His hands smoothed over the bumpy walls, standing back and looking up into Alquamíriel’s room. Inside there was a light. Perfect, she was awake. He wouldn’t have to sneak on her sleeping and startle her unnecessarily. Glancing around him to make sure nobody neared, he coned his hands around his mouth and made a soft cooing noise like an owl. “Alquamíriel!” He called out his lover’s name in the night. “Arise, fair Alquamíriel. The lights are down but I am up, and I wish to gaze upon the face of my wife before too long!”
There was a stirring in the bedroom, the rustling of curtains and he saw a white figure walk out onto her balcony, radiant and fair even in the dead of night. Eyes like seafoam, hair like starlight, she was indeed the swan jewel of Alqualondë. Her eyes caught his and and widened upon the sight of her husband waiting for her. “Culuhend!” She cried out his name.
“Míriel, Míriel! Let down your hair!” He hollered. For a moment he did think she would toss her hair over the balcony, only to see her rushing on back inside. A moment later and she had returned with a long white piece of fabric (curtains, perhaps?) and tied it to the railing of her balcony. “Tie it tight!” Culuhend said as she tossed the long end over and down to him.
Bare hands took a firm grip of the sheet and he tugged on it to test its strength. Well, better than nothing, he supposed, wrapping a loop around his hand. His feet pressed to the white stone of the tower and slowly, steadily he ascended up the side.
The view of Alqualondë from Míriel’s tower was magnificent. The city stretched out before them; on one side the great sea that sundered the East from the West, and on the other white Alqualondë. Thousands of lights of families at home were like stars on a pale sky, twinkling in the dreamy dusk of the night. To the south they could see the shady lands of Erreseä and the top of the holy mountain Taniquetil peeking above the darkened Pelóri. The soft and slow rumbling of waves on the beach put them into a lull in the heat of a midsummer’s night, like a dream in the gardens of Lórien.
Culuhend brushed himself off, and despite the beauty of their view, it paled in comparison to the sight of his bride. “Míriel.” He whispered, pulling her into an embrace, his lips claiming her’s in the heat of the night.
“My love.” She murmured, slipping from his embrace like a wisp of smoke. Alquamíriel pulled back and looked at him with concerned eyes, her lips twisted into a frown. “My love, we must talk.” She said, voice quiet.
“Talk?” Culuhend asked, a frown etching itself onto his face. “But we are newlyweds, what is there to talk about?” he said, following her into the dim light of her room, hands catching her by the shoulders. “The only talking we should do is with our bodies.” He purred, pressing a warm kiss to her shoulder.
Alquamíriel shuddered in repulsion, slipping out from under him though to Culuhend it read as her desire for him. He approached her again, going in for a kiss before she narrowly dodged out of fire. “No, Culuhend this is important.” She said, arms wrapping around herself and wishing she hadn’t worn a dress so wispy and light. “We need to talk, badly.”
Culuhend felt his shoulders drop in dejection. “What is this about then? Your father?” he asked, remembering the conversation he and Ciliwendë had earlier that night. “Alquamíriel, if this is about our marriage I will not back down. I love you and I want to be with you.” He quickly caught up with her and took her by the hands. “Look at me, Alquamíriel.” Culuhend pulled her to face him, his golden eyes looking into her seafoam green ones. “We will make this marriage work, I promise. No matter what Olwë says, you are my wife now, and I will not have him take you from me. His approval or no, you can come live with me in Tirion if that’s what it takes. Come live in the house of my parents, the house of the Golden Flower.”
Alquamíriel quirked a pale brow at him and shook her head. “I don’t want to live in Tirion though.” She paused and blinked up at him. “And I am not yours to keep! You didn’t even hear what I had to say!” she protested, pulling her hands out from beneath his.
“Do you regret us, then?” Culuhend asked, his stature fallen in the pale light of her candles. “Do you regret our marriage?” He had come here hoping for some romance, to continue what they’d started the previous night, but she was shirking him for discussion.
Míriel blinked at him with wide eyes. Is that how she came off as? “What? No no of course not! I just need to talk with you first, that is all.” She said. Slowly, she approached him, her blue skirts riding up about her feet as she glided across the marble floor. “Culuhend…” she reached out to take his hand once more, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “I carry your children.”
Culuhend didn’t think he heard that right. Blinking several times, he shook his head and met her eyes in earnest. “You what?”
