Coming home by daughterofshadows

Coming home

This is a Senior skate entry for Arda on Ice.

The following seven prompts were used:

• Salchow: end up somewhere new
• Flip: something unexpected
• Upright: a change of perspective (applies to the entire fic, rather than a specific section)
• Blur: a moment of confusion
• Layback: look skyward
• Flying: a moment of uncertainty
• Rocker: a quiet moment

It also covers General Prompt 6: any character depicted as trans or nonbinary, positive relationships between parents and children, rating G-M for B2MEM 2022

This belongs into my TMP universe, and I'm borrowing Celebrilmal from XirinofArvada.

Note that I'm using both Sindarin and Quenya names for some characters. That is because Rog has been using almost exclusively Sindarin in the past years, and his brain is now largely thinking in Sindarin, while Taminalma has been speaking a mix of both and is consequently still thinking mostly in Quenya.

Read Coming home

Flip:

Door hinges and handles had become the hot new commodity in the city seemingly overnight.

Barhador did not know why the carpenters had only now begun to make the doors for all the new buildings that formed their new-born settlement, but they had and suddenly Rog and the other blacksmiths were making nothing but hinges and handles, occasionally interspersed with a lock and key.

Sadly, the more intricate work was beyond Barhador’s current abilities, so he spent most of his time running errands for the smiths and bringing the finished wares to the carpenters.

It was not the most challenging of tasks, but he would not complain. It kept him fed and a roof over his head, and Rog had promised to teach him once the demand had lessened.

“Though, really, you ought to ask Alma. This is their area of expertise, not mine. I am more of a jeweller. Or a weaponsmith as of late”, Rog added with a laugh and ruffled Barhador’s hair.

 

Salchow:

The sun was barely visible over the mountains to their right as their company spilled out into the valley of Tumladen. Before them, Amon Gwareth rose from the plains, dotted already with many houses.

Gondolin.

After days of travel, they had reached their new home.

Taminalma sighed in relief.

Finally.

They could barely wait to see their husband again.

Beside them, Celebrilmal reached out to squeeze their hand.

“We made it! I can hardly believe it!”

Taminalma took in their heart’s daughter.

Only reluctantly had Salakanto parted with her, torn between wanting her safe and keeping her close.

He would remain in Vinyamar until the last company left, his administrative talents invaluable for organising their move.

Briefly, they wondered whether Rōka would still recognise her. In the last fifty years, Celebrilmal had grown into a young woman.

To Taminalma the change had been gradual, but they knew it would be jarring to their husband’s eyes who had last seen her when she was still a girl.

Such was the nature of time, even for elves. Rōka would understand. After all, at the very core she was still the happy child whose light had carried them through their darkest hours.

 

Flying:

“Lady Penlod! Or is it Lord today? To what do we owe the honour?”

“Lady will do, and I have been tasked to inform you that the latest group of travellers has arrived. I believe there are some amongst them that you will be very glad to see, Rog!”

Penlod grinned brightly, keeping a tight hold on Nibis in her arms. It was one thing for the kitten to ride on her shoulders while she took stock of the progress the carpenters made, but her wife would murder her gladly if something were to happen to her cat because the curious little thing wished to explore the smithy. Fire and kittens rarely mixed well together.

Rog’s answering grin was so blinding, Barhador thought it could rival their lamps. He could see that Rog wanted nothing more than to storm down to the gates and greet whoever Lady Penlod was talking about.

But he hesitated, looking around the room and down at the order he had been examining when their visitor came in. There was much more work to be done. Could he really abandon them?

One of the other smiths rolled their eyes. “Go on, lover boy, reunite with your spouse. We will manage on our own for a while. We will send someone if we need help.”

“And take your boy with you! Can’t have a family reunion if one of you is missing can you, eh?” another smith added.

Rog’s gaze landed on him. “Are you ready to meet the others? You do not have to, if you are not comfortable with it. We can wait a little while longer.”

Barhador swallowed and took a deep breath. “No. No, I would love to meet Taminalma.”

 

Layback:

They had reached the foot of Amon Gwareth and Celebrilmal tilted her head back to look at the city now towering above them. The city walls had yet to be completed, but a large gate already stood, and she was certain, now that more people lived in the valley the remaining walls would follow soon.

Above them they could hear voices, but the one she was most excited to hear had not yet reached her ears. Soon though. Celebrilmal could feel it.

Taminalma was on the look-out for red hair long before they had reached the gates of the city proper.

Behind them, Erferil did much the same.

They were welcomed by crowds of people. Many of Turgon’s people had already been resettled, and it appeared most of them had come to welcome the new arrivals.

Erferil stepped closer at the sight of the crowd, hovering over Taminalma’s shoulder, and they smiled. Now they only had to find their husband.

 

Blur:

The streets were packed, but Rog was easily able to carve a path through the crowds and as long as Barhador followed closely in his wake, he, too, found his way easily.

His thoughts drifted while they walked. Rog had often talked about his family, but the first time he spoke of his spouse was perhaps the one that Barhador recalled the clearest.

 

They had not been in Gondolin long, the foundations of the first houses had barely been laid and for now the builders were sleeping in tents where one day the market would be.

Barhador had ducked away to the small tent he currently shared with Rog to catch a quiet moment to himself before they all settled down for the night.

Egalmoth should have kept Rog busy for a while, long enough for Barhador to prepare for bed, but tonight the odds were not in his favour. He was unwrapping his breasts when the older elf returned.

There was a brief moment of terrible silence, in which Barhador sat frozen like a rabbit in front of a snake, before Rog averted his eyes and said, “I apologise. Please let me know when you are dressed again.”

Then he let the tent flap close again.

Barhador rushed through the rest of his routine on the verge of panic, before settling down and drawing his blanket tightly around himself.

“You can come back in”, he whisper-called and hated how terrified his voice sounded.

Rog was silent while he prepared for sleep. Only when he sat down, giving Barhador as much space as their tight quarters allowed, did he open his mouth again.

But Barhador was quicker. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

Rog looked at him. “Why exactly are you apologising?”

Barhador shrugged, ducking his head.

There was a sigh.

“Have I told you about my spouse yet?”

Barhador looked up in surprise. “You are married?”

“Have I truly not spoken of them before? I can hardly believe it! Some would accuse me of rarely shutting up about them!”

He shook his head, and Barhador tentatively returned his smile. He had yet to hear about Rog’s family.

“When we were a little younger than you are now, Alma decided they were neither man nor woman, but something else. That is why I use they when talking about them. I—”

Barhador gasped. “There are others like me? Truly?”

Rog nodded. “Most that I know are like Alma and do not wish to be man or woman, but there are also those like Penlod who is a man one day and a woman on the next. If you have decided, you are a man then I see no difference to all these others. It is your body. You know best who you are.”

Sleep did not come quickly that night, but when it did, Barhador’s dreams were all the sweeter for he had learnt he was not alone.

 

He was so lost in the past that Barhador almost missed it when Rog suddenly stepped to the side, out of the throng of people surrounding them.

Ahead of them he could see three people making their way towards them. One blonde, one dark and one silver haired. All three were smiling brightly.

 

For a moment, Rog almost thought that it was Laurendil making her way up the road next to Taminalma, but Laurendil was long dead, lost to the ice of the Helcaraxë. The woman now jumping into his arms could not be her. He caught her anyway.

“Celebrilmal! At least say hello first! He has not seen you in fifty years!” Taminalma chided with fond exasperation, while Erferil hid her grin behind a hand.

Rog could not understand what Celebrilmal mumbled into his shoulder, but he felt her arms tighten around him and he pressed a kiss to the side of her head.

“You look more and more like your mother every day, did you know, sweetheart?”

She gave him a teary-eyed smile and he let her slip down to the ground again. “Come, I have someone to introduce you to.”

 

In the end, Rōka was easier to find then they had expected. No matter how many people surrounded them, his red hair stood out and Taminalma tugged excitedly at Celebrilmal’s hand. The sigh of relief Erferil let out told them that she had spotted him, too.

As Rōka moved away from the people around him, Taminalma noticed a young man trailing in his wake. They frowned, confused. At first glance, they would have easily mistaken him for one of their Telerin cousins, with his dark skin and hair, just a shade darker than their own, but that was impossible.

 

The mystery was quickly solved, when Rōka put Celebrilmal on her feet again and announced, “This is Barhador”, and the young man adds, “Rog found me on the way here and was kind enough to take me under his wing.”

“You pick up strays everywhere you go, don’t you?” Erferil chuckled and Taminalma could not help but laugh when Rōka did not even have the decency to look contrite.

“You should have seen him when he was young. You are undoubtedly an improvement from the fox cubs!”

 

Rocker:

They stood wrapped in each other’s arms in their new home and through some miracle they were alone.

They had waited fifty years for this.

Taminalma could feel Rōka’s heartbeat in time with their own and for a moment the world narrowed down to the quiet thump-thump-thump.

They were at peace.