Haunted
Pairing = Glorfindel x Reader
Genre = Teen and up
General ratings = a twinge of angst, fluff, smut implied (?)
Content warnings = smut implied
Word count = 1,4k
Notes = ……hi 🫣 I haven’t posted in a month 🙃 Life has been really busy and I haven’t really had the time (nor the motivation, truthfully) to write. I had a more regular schedule before, but I think for now it will stay… ‘irregular’. I have no idea when or what I will post next. Hope you can understand!
Glorfindel was being haunted. Not by ghosts- no. By the memories of his past life. Of his mistakes. Of his friends. Of their deaths. Of his death. The searing pain of his scalp as he was tugged down and down and down by the Balrog. Of the heat he felt as he fought for his life, for the lives of Idril and Tuor and Eärendil and everyone. His mind replayed those moments over and over, never leaving him a second of peace.
The slight smile of Ecthelion, Rog’s boisterous laugh, Turgon’s exasperation with them, Elgalmoth’s mischievous eyes as he gossiped, Penlod’s hums as he pretended he was listening, Galdor’s excited chatter about the trees and plants he saw, Duilin’s whistles as he walked, Tuor’s love-struck expression as his eyes followed Idril and Maeglin’s shy smile when someone asked him about his work…
Oh, Maeglin… Glorfindel had hated him, for a time. Hated him for giving Gondolin away to Morgoth, giving away their lives.. But that time had passed. In the halls of Námo, Glorfindel had had plenty of time to think before he was reborn. And think he did : about how Maeglin had lost his mother and father. About how his only parental figure was Turgon, who was too busy to really spend time with his nephew. About how he mistook his love for Idril as romantic and not platonic, and how that strained his friendship with her and Tuor. About how rumors spread that Maeglin was a vile being. About how none of them did anything to defend him. About how lonely Maeglin must have been.. About what impossible horrors he felt at the hands of Morgoth and Sauron. About how they never saw how broken Maeglin had returned. About how he didn’t care if he died anymore.
Yes, Glorfindel had thought, Maeglin had done something wrong. And he forgave Maeglin for what he had done, because Maeglin had been a child. A child who needed to be guided and shown love, but no one had stepped up to take up the role.
He thought about you. About your smile, your eyes, your nose. About the way you moved, how you talked and your passions. And he ached. Because he didn’t know what happened to you. He didn’t know if you had died, if you had suffered or if you were still alive. If you had moved on from him.. And that haunted him. His every waking thought, his every dream and nightmare.
Sometimes, Glorfindel dreamed of you. He dreamed that you were laying in his bed, in Gondolin, smiling at him. That you carded your fingers through his hair and told him that you loved him. And when he woke up, his heart ached and he did not know whether to thank or curse Irmo.
Glorfindel had a mission. He was going back to Arda Marred. And he found himself dreading going back. Dreading seeing how everything had changed and how the language had evolved. Dreading how no one he knew would be there. How he would be alone. At least in Valinor, he saw his mother and father. He found himself crying when he realized he did not remember what being embraced by his parents felt like. They took care of him and he couldn’t be more grateful to have them.
When Glorfindel departed, he stood looking at Valinor until it had been long since out of view. He stood still, wondering if he was dreaming. He thought, how ironic, for he was going back. Not anyone else. Him. Laurëfindelë Glorfindel, an emissary of the Valar, granted powers nearly as strong as that of the Maiar. And he didn’t want to go back. Nienna wept for him, for his sacrifice, for his fear and for his love. He found himself appreciating her understanding. She visited him, before he departed. He listened to her words, without understanding : “Dear Child, your heart is being haunted. Your mind is playing tricks on you, and your heart is rendered blind by your pain. But your gut, your gut is still there and strong. Follow it, follow what it tells you. But do not silence your heart and mind for it, listen to them. Listen, but do not follow.”
~~~
When Glorfindel arrived in Middle Earth, he did not know where to begin. He was tired, but could not sleep. He thought about you. About your lips on his, about your laugh, about your hands in his, about the ring he had passed on your finger. He thought and thought and thought. And his heart ached. He walked on paths and in forests, stopping to wash himself in rivers. And he despaired.
It was later that he found Lindon. Days later. Or weeks, he did not know. He met Elrond, someone who would confuse and amuse him for the rest of their lives. Part man, part elf, part maia. He wore the insignias of Fingolfin and Fëanor with pride, daring anyone to confront him about it. He was a gentle soul with a heart of gold and the patience of the wise. He was as kind as summer and Glorfindel found himself basking in his presence, like a flower who had grown up in shadow feeling the sun on itself for the first time.
Círdan was surprisingly mischievous. Subtle jokes, sarcasm and deadpan looks were all things he threw at others, uncaring if they understood or not. He was calm, but could easily terrorize anyone with his anger, like the sea. Board games were his favorite and Glorfindel spent time playing with him, thinking of strategies to beat the older elf.
Gil-Galad was as confusing as he was funny. His father was unknown and he liked to joke around about it. Glorfindel spent time with him when they could, talking about everything and nothing. When Gil-Galad felt Glorfindel starting to lose himself in memories, he would randomly tell a stupid joke. They made Glorfindel laugh each time.
Celebrimbor had been a bit weary at first. Glorfindel almost laughed at the memory of a small Curufinwë Tyelpërinquar staring at him with the exact same look. It wasn’t long until they became great friends. Celebrimbor understood : he, too, was haunted by his past actions and words. Maybe for different reasons than Glorfindel, but the important thing was that he related to how Glorfindel felt. Having his feelings validated was something that alleviated the pain in Glorfindel’s heart.
~~~
Glorfindel walked around Lindon aimlessly and leisurely, taking his time to look around. You haunted him. Everything he saw reminded him of you. From pretty rocks you would have collected, passing by a stand selling your favorite fruit, to someone wearing clothes the exact color of your eyes. His mind played tricks on him, making him imagine hearing your laugh or seeing your beautiful hair swaying in the wind.
He stopped walking at a bookstore, a feeling bubbling up inside him. He looked at the door, curious. His gut screamed at him to enter that store, for some reason. His mind dismissed the feeling, but his heart held hope. They warred against each other. And then, Glorfindel was reminded of Nienna’s words to him. And he went inside the store.
Inside the store, which was cozy and homey, he felt pulled towards a particular bookshelf. His breath hitched as his mind reeled to a stop, his heart pumping wildly. There you stood, browsing the shelf while smiling. Feeling observed, you turned your head, your eyes widening as you saw Glorfindel, your husband, your soulmate, standing there. Glorfindel was frozen, his mind scrambling and heart singing with joy. You were the one to make the first move, throwing yourself in his arms, ecstatic. Glorfindel hugged you back, a sense of wholeness overtaking his mind and body as he kissed you long and passionately.
The two of you spent hours upon hours talking, laughing, crying and hugging. This long-awaited reunion was a balm on Glorfindel’s bruised and battered heart. That night, under the stars, in a magnificent glade full of flowers, you rekindled your fëas. Glorfindel made love to you slowly and passionately, kissing every piece of skin revealed as he undressed you, worshiping your body with his hands and mouth. That night, in your arms, Glorfindel had no nightmares. He woke up to your sweet voice and felt free. Free of the thing that haunted him. And he smiled.
End notes : Hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments & likes are extremely appreciated 🫶
@theladyvanya
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A real beaut'
Dear @fishing4stars, here is your story about a really ugly ship.
As evidenced by a discussion with Shadow on the server, Círdan is one of the only characters I consistently write Gen stories for.
So, hooray for love that is neither romantic nor sexual in nature.
Words: 1k
Characters: Círdan
Prompt: Seaside (and an ugly ship)
Warnings: A very ugly ship
At first, Círdan had taken immense pleasure and pride in the construction of ships that were not only uniquely suited to the difficult crossing they would have to brave but also breathtakingly beautiful to behold.
Through the ages, he had perfected his techniques, managing to create ever more elaborate and stunning vessels while keeping to a reasonable and steady rhythm.
Yes, he was justly proud of the fruits of his personal development and lovingly executed labour.
Unfortunately, he was not spared the terrible realisation that befell most quasi-immortal beings: after a certain point, the inevitable stagnation raced the just as inexorable boredom to the finish line that would determine which one would ultimately destroy a dream and enterprise so consistently and faithfully pursued through the years.
Moreover, fewer and fewer elves arrived at the Havens to be granted passage into the West—Círdan could only surmise that almost all who wanted to leave had already done so.
All that was left for him to do was to wait endlessly for those who were still holding out for an improbable miracle or who did not let haste and common sense overrule their obscene desire to witness the tragedies and heroics of this declining age.
Torn between his sense of duty and his dismay with both his plateauing skills and the tardiness of his people, Círdan spent long days musing about the matter of shipbuilding with all the intense focus and harried sadness proper to one so old.
"Well," an elf who passed by the now quiet and dark workshop almost every day joked, "why don't you make it a really ugly ship? Challenge yourself and your well-honed skills and tastes, why won't you?"
"Ugly?" The mere idea of wilfully, consciously creating something aesthetically displeasing jolted the old shipwright wide awake in an instant.
As ludicrous as the idea sounded at first, he could not deny that there was a strange but enchanting draw to the very concept.
All his life, he had abided by the rules—patiently bearing the brunt of others' mistakes without so much as complaining—and he had never dared even consider deviating from what was strictly expected and needed from him in the name of frivolous pleasure and wicked humour.
"I shall try," he agreed and gave the passer-by a friendly nod.
As he walked along the murmuring sea, he found that he could not put this new project out of his mind.
Of course, he would hold off on depriving any willing soul of a vessel for as long as he could, but, secretly, he had to concede that it would be well-deserved if these dilly-dalliers arrived on the Blessed Shores on a ship so misshapen and unlovely that the Valar themselves would be shaken out of their peaceful stupor by the incongruous cacophony of shapes and colours.
Thus, finding no rest in any other activity, Círdan set out to find the most mottled of trees for his planks.
Throughout his more than respectable lifespan, he had known many a people and had been granted the honour of becoming intimately familiar with their visions of beauty.
Ever ambitious and dutiful in his craft, Círdan consequently decided to cobble together the most despicable and appalling elements he could think of in hopes of creating a proper eyesore.
Drawing from the sheer endless inspiration of his long life, he paid homage to friends and foes by going against every rule—written and unwritten—that defined and decided loveliness.
As the sun wheeled its way across the sky through endless days of labour, he toiled relentlessly, warping the mottled, irregularly grained wood into grotesque shapes and splashing garish paints haphazardly on boldly exposed structural elements.
Often, he was found laughing raucously to himself—as unlikely as it had seemed at the outset, Círdan felt his love for his craft revived and his own soul reinvigorated by this absurd contraption that soon grew to positively obscene dimensions and made him happier than many a gorgeous vessel he had made before.
When he finally stepped back to admire his handiwork, he had to suppress a shiver of delighted distaste—truly, he thought, this ship was a testament to his skill as much as to his bravery. It was absolutely hideous.
“Unusual style,” a young apprentice declared upon glimpsing the monstrosity. He cocked his head in earnest interest and let his hand travel along the hull slowly. “It must have been so hard to get the right fit. I surmise that she can make the crossing?”
Círdan frowned in vexation. He was a shipwright, not an artist and—no matter what challenge he had taken on within his mind—he would never have created something that would not fulfil its primary function excellently.
“A true masterpiece,” the lad exclaimed and went on inspecting the vessel eagerly. In his eyes shone a fierce love for both his craft and his master, and so Círdan could hardly resent him for having completely missed the point of this enterprise.
Círdan was, naturally, sincerely taken aback by that reaction—thus far, he had been well pleased with his shockingly unpleasing work but now, he started to doubt himself. Had he lost touch with the tastes and predilections of the times so utterly that he had been indeed mistaken in his conception of ugliness?
Moreover, the group of elves arriving at the Havens to cross the ocean never to return displayed a similar level of unprejudiced awe. Dazed, Círdan felt his hand being grasped and shaken vigorously in congratulation for his daring and innovative creation.
Sitting by the ocean, his feet in the water, Círdan watched his experiment drift out onto the open sea—she moved beautifully, as expected, because every incongruent piece had been hand-fitted into a clashing kaleidoscope of ill-assorted but meticulously balanced efficiency.
Despite all his ambitions, the ship was loved by its passengers.
Closing his eyes as he leaned back against the warm sand, Círdan decided that—one way or another—he would take this as a win.
@fellowshipofthefics Here's number 4/5 for this week.
I love the server, I love the prompts, and - of course - I truly love y'all!
This is entirely dedicated to the FOTFICS server and the brilliant people in it!
Lots of love
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Thoughts about Círdan and Ossë:
Careful, once again, this got much longer than expected. Also...this is a bit for @masteroftheseas, who inspired me.
To me, these two have a relationship, that is hard to label. The closest term I would use for them is 'soulmates'.
I have a little headcanon - that during Ainulindalë, with the theme of Children, Eru made some of both elves and men so, that their souls would resonate with the Ainur. Sometimes as partners, sometimes as something else.
Círdan became such one for Ossë, during sunless years.
They met after the Teleri finally arrived at the western shores of Beleriand. Not right away though. It took a while before both Ossë and Uinen noticed presence of new, sentient beings, so similar and yet different from them. They knew of course about awakening of the Firstborn Children thanks to Ulmo, but once they learnt about their arrival to the shores, both were quick to go and observe them from afar at first.
Círdan had seen great bodies of water, but Belegëar was different. At first he couldn't quite pinpoint it, but later he realized it was the sound, the song of waves. It was the first difference he noticed. More of them followed and Círdan was rather eager to explore what he could, without endangering himself too much. Still, he ended up almost killing himself.
While he was admiring, what was later named sea-fire, swimming in and around it, he was stung by a jellyfish. Círdan never experienced such intense pain before, despite the perils he endured during the Journey. He nearly drowned, were it not for Ossë, who also took care of the lethal poison. Círdan only remembered at that time being carried by a wave, that placed him gently on a beach, where his kin found him, still recovering.
Of course many questions were asked and Círdan was unable to give answers. Other than that, that he got stung, it hurt terribly, but after a while, some strong current curled firmly around him, pain faded and strong, big wave carried him on the shore, way faster than seemed natural.
Ossë himself felt a bit....odd. The Children sure were a curious lot, which he found a bit annoying and at the same time endearing. And so, when one of them was at such grave danger and in agony, he found himself helping that Child. Why did he feel such relief when that ...male ... showed signs of improving?
The Maia couldn't help himself, his own curiosity now awakened. He just had to keep observing. The more he did so, the more he grew to like them. The one he rescued caught his attention in particular. Ossë watched the elf walking on the shore again and again, listening to the music of waves, as if trying to catch some specific melody. He watched the elf, as he was collecting the seashells and seaweed, testing, what was edible and what was not.
Círdan experienced strange things occuring around him, as he did so. Like - he really wanted to get that bright red and purple seaweed, but before he could, waves pushed him away. Repeatedly. Or these waves pounced on him, while he was simply walking on the beach - later he noticed little sea urchins at the spot, he nearly stepped on. Some time after that, he learnt with the rest, that those were poisonous.
Ossë makes a game and a challenge of it, curious, when that elf would realize, that all those weird accidents were his doing, doing of a sentient being just like him. He realizes, he loves that game, sometimes leaving little, subtle hints.
Círdan is so very confused at first, but as he keeps experiencing strange occurences, he starts suspecting, there might be a being like Oromë behind it all, and seeks the Huntsman's counsel. Oromë, being who he is, senses easily residue of Ossë's power.
The Vala tells Círdan, that he indeed is watched over by an Ainu, but also tells him to find more on his own.
This makes Círdan more attentive to anything odd happening, when he's out at the beach and alone. Sometimes he notices water, swelling into a wave that stays looming too long for it to be natural, moving in direction, that it should not. He feels someone's stare on him, intense and filled with curiosity. And a bit of mischief and mirth as well.
Time flies, Oromë grows impatient, and Elwë....goes missing. Along with others of the Teleri, Círdan joins the search more than once, and realizes, how much he misses the ever-sighing and singing waves of the sea. The longer the search goes, the less hope for finding Elwë remains.
Whenever Círdan returns to the shores, his heart his heavy, but here, he finds a relief. As Oromë rushes the Eldar to leave, Círda finds himself torn. He longs to see the Trees and bask in their light, but at the same time, he has doubts. Would it be worth it, if he gives up his search too soon? Would he still be able to enjoy all the promised light and protection, while dreading, Elwë might had lost his life because no help came for him? Or that he struggled somewhere? Or worse, got caught by dark forces?
Finally, not only Oromë leaves with Ingwë and Finwë...after a longer time, Olwë longs to leave the shores of Middle-Earth, where he lost all his brothers as well. He already lost his hope. Círdan feels a lot like him, but as much as he wishes to see the land of Powers, iluminated by trees of light, he knows he would miss the shores of Middle-Earth dearly.
As his people finally start settling down along the coast, he often comes to sit on the rocks or in the soft sand of the beach, humming or ranting to himself, or his unknown... protector? Friend? Ossë listens...and learns the language.
One particularly stressful 'day', he couldn't even finish his little humming. But as he falls silent, all tired, he suddenly hears a voice, tingling with power, that continues with the tune.
"Would you mind showing yourself, please? I could use someone friendly just being here with me," Círdan makes a sour grin as he watches the waves, lapping at his ankles.
He really should have expected it. Still he gasps as presence of someone else, sitting right next to him and his eyes widen as they meet an unfamiliar face. He recognizes that presence, and when their eyes meet, it's the mirth and mischief dancing in maia's stare, that makes Círdan recognize, who could that be.
"Like what you see, child of the stars?" the being....male...asks with familiar voice.
"It's you....is it really you?" Círdan exhales admiring the one next to him.
Just like the waves, hair of his companion swirls around his head and cascades and flows over his shoulders and back. It's pale like the sea foam and it shimmers with the luminiscence of sea-fire. And his eyes glow the same way, clear, amused, curious.
"Should I sing for you, so you could be sure?" Círdan's companion chuckles. Círdan finds himself drowning in embarassement. He wants to both refuse, since it is unnecessary, and to agree, just to hear him singing again.
"Uhm...only if you want to, ..." Círdan finally decides, still in a bit of a daze. He is gifted a song, he gains a friend, and learns his name.
Since then both meet frequently, learning a lot from each other. Ossë teaches Círdan about currents, about waves and the melodies of the sea.
Círdan tells Ossë about others like him, about the Journey, the customs Eldar created for themselves, and aswers to the best of his ability any questions Ossë comes with. They soon bond over shared stories about various shenanigans in their life.
Ossë is soon amazed, when he watches Círdan build a small boat to be able to explore the coast. Olwë, once he learns about Ossë from Círdan, ocassionally joins them both, quickly befriending the Maia as well.
Now whole years pass by, Círdan as well as Olwë settling in Middle-Earth. Olwë misses dearly both his brothers and his friend Finwë, but is unable to do anything to change that. Círdan misses them as well, but he's growing as fond of the coast, as he longs to see the Two Trees. Both of them are slowly reconcilling with the fact, they missed their oportunity, and have to deal with it each their own way.
Little do they know, that they were on their friend's mind, enough to plea for one more chance for them persistently enough.
When they meet Ossë once again, it is clear that something has happened. When Olwë learns about that there would be a way to get to Valinor and that all he has to do is to gather all, who would like to go there and let themselves be carried, he's overjoyed.
Círdan notices though, how forced are Ossë's smiles and bright cheery voice.
"My friend? What troubles you?"
"What? Why do you think I'm troubled by anything?"
...
"You learnt how to read me way too well for your own good," Ossë relents with a sigh.
"I'm sure, this goes both ways," Círdan's lips show a gente smile.
There's long silence, before Ossë finally speaks from his heart.
"These shores will be... much too silent, once you all leave. I'm...forbidden to hinder your way to the Blessed realm, but I just wish you remained here. Despite the dangers you would have to face all the time," Círdan hears the Maia. "These shores and waters close to them are my domain. I thought it beautiful, after all, I helped creating it. But once you leave..." he shrugs and sighs again.
"Shores of Valinor....are not your home as well?"
"Well...yes, to a point. Though the sea is too tame there, for my taste. My true home is here."
Deciding felt never so hard, as at that time. Círdan wishes to see Valinor, to see those Trees, he had only heard about, but at the same time, he remembers the longing, that made Ossë's voice softer, than usual. The way the sadness about impending departure of elves from Middle-Earth seemed to dim the light in his eyes.
He talks with his people, he walks the shores alone and deep in his thoughts. His dreams are filled with visions of beauty he never imagined as well as sadness or premonition of loosing something important.
The hour of departure is here and Olwë finds his friend Círdan on the beach, not joining the groups of elves, ready to finally leave.
"Having doubts?" Olwë stands next to Círdan.
"Rather a contrary, my friend. I'm staying here. Should I come across any news of your brothers, I'll find a way to let you know."
"Wait, wha-"
"Now, don't look at me like this. I gave it a lot of thinking. My heart found it's roots here. If I left, I think I would never truly be home anywhere. Don't get me wrong, I still long to see the Trees of light, and I'm grateful and happy for you. Say hello to Finwë and others for me, yes?"
Círdan watches and watches the whole island and Olwë looking back at him, until a mist, hanging low above the waves takes the sight away from him. When he finds himself in a tight hug, he chuckles.
"I couldn't bring myself to leave. I've come to love these shores too much, Ossë," he lifts his stare to look in Maia's eyes. And my, are they bright now!
Along with the rest of those who remained, he still organizes search parties, looking for Elwë and others, who are missing. Settlements grow along the coast, and people are starting to find happines in their new homes.
Círdan even sometimes gets to doing his craft and builds his first few ships, that should help him and his people to explore the shore further, and perhaps some smaller isles. Ossë teaches him songs of waves, and the art of sailing, and Círdan takes to it, quite literally like fish to water.
Ossë is constantly amazed, how perceptive Círdan seems to be of the water and it's melodies, and how easily he seems to tune into it. Just swimming together becomes one of their favourite activities.
Círdan finishes one of his first ships, made under a bit of Ossë's guidance, when he recieves the news of Elwë being found. He rushes to meet him, and is stunned as he at the same moment meets his lady wife - another Maia.
Her beauty and radiance certainly are something to behold and he understands his friend being entranced by it. Melian quickly recognizes many blessings bestowed on Círdan by Ossë. Círdan is surprised, when he learns about it from her. Ossë never uttered a word on that matter. He never thought he would be this much protected and cherished.
Círdan, after a lot of catching up with Elwë, seeks Ossë once again, now with his most precious thing he has. It's like the purest crystal, of the size of his own fist, glowing from within with golden-white brilliance and it emits warmth as well. He showed it Oromë once, but before the Vala could guess, what it might be, others disturbed them and the crystal was forgotten until now.
Ossë is stunned - for he knows what it is, after a bit of inspecting it.
"Where did you find that? I thought...." Ossë is at loss of words. A shard of beauty, now lost. And yet...still glowing, like one happy memory of a nice day.
"I found it a few years after I woke up for the first time," Círdan smiles as he remembers that moment of surprise and aw. "I was hunting and when I chased a doe, I slipped and slid down a steep slope of narrow crevice. I nearly broke my legs, when I hit the bottom. I had to search for a way out for long hours, but at the deepest part I found this. Do you... like it?"
"If I like it?" Ossë blinks and then chuckles. "My dearest friend...it's magnificent, even if it is but a tiny shard of once great work of Vala Aulë! It still carries within the light and happiness of spring of Arda!"
"All the more reason to give you this as my gift of...gratitude, friendship...and love."
After some hesitation and confirming, that Círdan truly wants him to have it, Ossë finally accepts, moved by this gesture.
In the sunless years the bond between them grows stronger. Círdan's luck in fishing is becoming legendary. Ossë even takes him to a small island, not too far from Brithombar, and once they both build a dwelling here for them both, whenever duties of a ruler get too much and there are no pressing matter, Círdan finds solace and peace here, in his little sanctuary.
Ossë frequently visits, and both spend blissful time, when they trade gossips and stories and songs. Ossë sometimes brings Uinen along, and at that times, under protection of both Maiar, Círdan gets to visit their underwater dwellings.
They both sometimes get so close, that Círdan can sense Ossë's shifting moods, just watching how the waves swell and crush on the shore. Sometimes it is Círdan's song, that calms incoming storm. And sometimes, Círdan feels tenderness of water, soothing both his body and mind, when he goes swimming to clear his head, like touches of a lover.
Melkor's return, as well as the arrival of the Noldor put their bond to the test. As much as Círdan mourns for all those fallen in Alqualondë, he does appreciate lives, that were saved, when the Noldor fought the forces of the Fallen, now called Morgoth.
Círdan senses the wrath, that hangs about the Noldor, like heavy clouds of incoming storm, ready to strike with lightnings. And yet, he can't afford to refuse a help, when it is offered. His realm is not protected that much as Doriath is. After the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, his losses grow. He might has Ossë's favour and love, but that cannot protect those, who volunteer to try to sail to Valinor, to plead for help.
Ossë himself is torn, and sometimes acts upon impulses of his heart and thanks to that, orcs fear the sea, and refuse to come to the coast. Whenever some gain enough courage, Ossë makes sure, it's the last thing they gained. It pains him to sink the ships Círdan built with utmost precision, and with well being of free folk on his mind.
The third kinslaying is a nightmare for Círdan. He manages to flee with many to the isle of Balar, and no longer can go to the that small sanctuary he and Ossë both built and spent so many happy moments there.
Many restless nights Círdan spends in solitude on the beach, hoping to see Ossë again, hoping to find answers...or comfort.
One night he dreams once again, about Eärendil and the ship, he built for him. He dreams of white city on the coast, with beautiful ships at the piers and docs. There, the waves seem to sing far clearer. It's the song of the waves, that slowly drifts him back from his dream to the waking world.
As he gets up, the song of the sea is still so clear in his mind, that it lures him out. His heart beats faster and faster, and he feels strangely giddy, as he rushes to the beach. Once he is there, he hears it. Ossë sings...and sings for him, about grief, about missing the loved ones, and about hope as well.
Círdan responds with his own song about longing, about worries and doubts, and about hope too.
They reunite. Círdan sees something he never expected - Ossë being tired and troubled and filled with sorrow. Still he also has hope, that he shares with his friend. Círdan learns from him about whereabouts of Eärendil and that Elwing, his wife is still alive and well.
As the War of Wrath is drawing near, both renew little by little their closeness. Círdan hopes to see the final defeat of Morgoth - much like Ossë does. Ossë knows though, that the price would be high and tries to prepare Círdan for what is inevitable in his eyes - destruction of large scale, that would change the world as they know it.
When it finally happens, it hits them both hard. As they both deal with the aftermath of the War of Wrath, all the shared grief and pain seals their bond.
Long years of the Second Age bring rebuilding at first, before the Shadow returns. This time though, Ossë doesn't fall silent for years, nor he lets his love for Círdan get cold again. He warns him about Annatar, not being who he seems to be, and adds to Círdan's uncomfortable feeling in his gut about this 'emissar of the Valar'.
Ossë comforts him, when Círdan learns about the downfall of Eregion, Númenor, and much later of the death of Oropher and Gil-Galad.
Third Age becomes an age of nostalgia to both of them. As the world slowly falls asleep and turns grey, along with the eldar sailing to the West, Ossë is now a bit of an anchor to Círdan, who grows restless, as the day of his departure from Middle-Earth slowly nears.
When Sauron is finally defeated, Círdan feels his time in Middle-Earth coming to an end as well. It pains him to leave Middle-Earth, but at the same time, it brings him a bit of relief as well - since everything is becoming less and less responsive, than he was used to. And so he makes the last ships, that would carry him and other elves to Valinor.
Ossë makes sure, that the voyage is smooth and safe, and is the first one to welcome him in Blessed realm.
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