Written for Tolkien Femslash Week Bingo, for the prompts:

Crack Pairings: Iminyë/Fíriel Fairbairn (O42)
Emotions: Longing (O42)

The title of the ficlet is from Fëanor's speech in "Of the Flight of the Noldor" in The Silmarillion.

"Don't stay up too late, Fíriel-lass!" her mother chided gently. "The book will still be there in the morning."

Fíriel promised she wouldn't, but nevertheless she opened the book again as soon as her mother had left the room. The tales of Elves captivated her with their sorrow and beauty. She wanted to keep reading, even as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She finally fell asleep over the Translations from the Elvish, and when she slept, she dreamed.

Fíriel stood beneath a sky like black velvet, spangled with the brightest stars she had ever seen. Wondering, she turned first one way and then the other.

Someone made a sound of surprise. Fíriel looked to see an Elf-lady standing before her, for she could be no other. She was tall as a young tree, and fair of face; her golden hair flowed down her back over her garment of skins. She spoke to Fíriel in an unknown tongue, ancient and musical as the falling of water.

Fíriel stood abashed at her beauty, digging her toes into the moss, and knew not what to say. The Elf-lady smiled and spoke again, holding out her hand to Fíriel.

Fíriel would willingly have gone any distance or offered her any service; but the lady only led her a short distance to a lake, its waters broad and dark. A waterfall tumbled down a rocky cliff, splashing upward in white foam where it fell into the lake. Following the Elf, Fíriel went closer, until she could feel the spray on her face. The rock was damp and cool against her feet. She smiled with delight to see how water-droplets glimmered like jewels along the hem of her dress.

They sat down together by the lake, their feet dangling in the water. Stars were above them, and reflected stars glittered in the dark water. Longing seized Fíriel's heart: to stay forever by this lake beneath the stars, to wander here with the golden-haired Elf-maid.

Then she heard a voice calling her name as if from a great distance, and she felt herself waking. "No," she cried desperately, "I don't want to go. Let me stay here!"

But she woke, and the dream faded; and to Cuiviénen there is no returning.


"and to Cuiviénen there is no returning": from "Of the Coming of the Elves" in The Silmarillion.