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Summary: �Can you hear me tonight? Take me out of this darkness and into the morning light.� - Out of the Darkness, Chris Rea
Author's Note: Many sources state that Thranduil did not begin to move his folk underground until near the end of the first millennium of the Third Age, when the shadow of the Necromancer began to darken the Greenwood, but other sources suggested this may have begun earlier. Forgive this minor deviance from canon. I�m not sure I hit the hair fetish dead-on, but I did my best. *grin* Happy Holidays!
** denotes mindspeak **
* * *
Once the shaking had finally tapered off to an occasional shiver, and the worst of the chill had subsided, Thranduil slowly became alert and accepted the cup that Glorfindel handed him, the steaming beverage accompanied by a stern order to drink up.
Erestor helped him wash and rinse his hair, and when that was done, Thranduil asked for a few moments alone in order to collect himself before the questioning that he could no longer avoid. Glorfindel and Erestor left him soaking in the warm water, sipping gingerly at a mug of scalding, spiked cider, and retired to the front room to wait.
Galion had, of course, been worried nearly sick by his liege’s state of mind, and protested vociferously when Erestor gently but firmly pointed him toward the door and dismissed him for the evening. He would have refused outright to leave Thranduil with anyone but Erestor, but accede he did, reluctantly, with a solemn promise not to breathe a word of what he had witnessed. They would not be disturbed, Galion would see to it, with his last breath.
Thranduil finally emerged from the bathroom some time later, dressed in a thick cotton robe and toweling his hair dry, to find Erestor and Glorfindel in the sitting room before the fire, drinking mulled cider and nibbling from the tray Galion had left.
Unnoticed as yet, he leaned against the doorway watching them for a moment. Glorfindel lounged in a wingback chair, with Erestor sitting cross-legged at his feet, leaning back against his legs. As Thranduil looked on, Erestor tipped his head back and opened his mouth to receive a bit of bread spread with soft cheese. Glorfindel did not immediately draw his hand away, but let it rest a moment, tracing the curve of his lover’s jaw. The gesture was so simple, but so sweet and intimate, that the old, by now familiar ache again swelled in Thranduil’s chest.
Thranduil slowly backed away from the room, but even that cautious movement drew Erestor’s eye, and straightening up, he patted the floor next to him and then held out his hand.
“Not this time, Thranduil. Come, sit with us.”
Swallowing the words of protest that immediately sprang to his lips, Thranduil sank to the floor at Glorfindel’s feet, allowing Erestor to loosely link their fingers together. Then the king sighed.
“So, do you want the long version or the short version?”
“Whichever tells the story, my friend,” Erestor answered.
His tongue loosened by the heat of a warm bath, the closeness of friends, and a few cups of brandy-laced cider, Thranduil told his story. His words were heard by both, but directed primarily toward Erestor.
“I vowed many times on the journey from Lindon that I would find my way back to you someday, consequences be damned, but in the end, I could not. I could not leave my father. I thought of you, missed you every single day and night, but I knew that there was no going back, so I did what I had to do and tried to move on.”
Erestor nodded, remembering his own sorrow, of the sense of unfairness and his anger at Oropher for making them part. It had never occurred to him to be angry at Thranduil, for making the choice to follow his father.
“When I thought I could not bear it one more day, there was Gilethiel, and what I thought could never happen again, did. I fell in love with her. Our days were happy and our nights…” a faint smile crossed his face, “oh, the nights! She was incredible, my lovely wife.”
The rest of the story came out in a great rush.
“She kissed me and sent me off to war at my father’s side, and with love and patience, and the occasional swift kick in the bottom when I needed it, eased my grief when I returned home without him, bearing the weight of a crown I never wanted, and the burden of the welfare of his people. Then shadows came to the forest, and we withdrew further and further from the outside world, deeper into isolation.
“It was not all darkness, though. Legolas was born, and my eldest and heir married – with good fortune, he will return before you leave in the spring.
“One day, she went for a walk and never came home. We searched for days, and found nary a trace of her. Her body was found a week later, washed up into an eddy in the river. Her throat had been cut. We never caught her murderers.”
He sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
“It was just too much to bear. Legolas found me one day in the wine cellar, sobbing like a babe. I had gone down to check the inventory, and I remembered when you and I stole those bottles of the king’s wine. Do you remember that, Erestor? I was never so ill in my life as I was the next day, and I could not look your father in the eye for months.”
That memory was vivid in Erestor’s mind, even millennia later. He and Thranduil had been a few years shy of majority, at that age that all young ones in late adolescence go through – too old for the games of childhood, but not yet privy to the privileges of adulthood, and curious to sample that which was forbidden. Curious, they had snuck into the king’s wine cellar and had pilfered three bottles of sweet, syrupy wine. Knowing little about wines, they did not realize this vintage was of a particularly potent variety, intended to be sipped and served with savory appetizers. Erestor’s father had found them a few hours later in Erestor’s room, drunk as lords, improvising raunchy songs and giggling like little girls, three empty bottles lying at their feet. At seeing his best friend’s father’s glowering visage, Thranduil had crumpled to the floor and passed out. Erestor threw up on his father’s shoes, and then passed out.
“Aye, I remember it well, as did my backside after Father took a strap to it the next day,” Erestor answered, with an unconscious wince in recollection of the reprimand his father had given him the morning after, not so much in punishment for drinking to excess, as for the act of stealing.
Thranduil choked back a sob and his voice wavered.
“And that made me remember when Gilethiel and I accidentally locked ourselves in the supply room. We were bored out of our skulls, waiting for someone to discover we were missing, and started sampling the stock, just to pass the time. We wound up making love on top of the wine barrels. Legolas was conceived that very afternoon.”
“When I saw you two kissing in the snow, and saw the love you have, I thought about my wife, and how it was back in Lindon, and it was too much to bear. I had to get away.
Heartache is an unwelcome beast that creeps out of the dark, and will never give me peace. I cannot escape it.”
Thranduil dropped his head to his hand and cried.
Glorfindel understood all too well those feelings of bleak despair, and leaned over to press his cheek to Thranduil’s, wrapping his arms around the king’s broad chest in comfort. Erestor held his hand and rocked against him, shushing him until he quieted.
When the flood of tears had ended, Thranduil was leaning against Erestor, drained and exhausted.
While Glorfindel stoked the fire, piled the mugs and pitcher back on the tray, and placed it on the floor outside the door to Thranduil’s chambers, Erestor took Thranduil by the hand and led him to the bed. He pulled off Thranduil’s robe and helped him under the covers, and kissed his cheek. He stood and turned to leave, when Thranduil caught his sleeve.
‘Please, stay with me, I do not want to be alone tonight,’ the pleading, haunted look in Thranduil’s eyes seemed to say, though he had not spoken a word.
Erestor looked at Glorfindel and a wordless exchange passed between them. He nodded, once, and silently began removing his clothing. Glorfindel did the same, and leaned over to douse the lantern.
“Leave it on. The darkness is oppressive,” Thranduil whispered.
“As you wish.”
They climbed onto the bed, one on either side, and crawled under the blankets. With Thranduil nestled safely between them, they lay in silence, listening to the pop and hiss of the fire in the hearth and the faint but steady drip of water from somewhere deep in the caverns.
Thranduil’s breathing evened and slowed, and at last he fell asleep, his hand still entwined with Erestor’s, Glorfindel’s strong arm encircling his waist. A long while later, Erestor, Thranduil’s breath gently rustling his hair, finally dropped off to sleep to the sound of Glorfindel’s soft snoring.
* * *
Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, Glorfindel woke gradually from his peaceful slumber. During the night, their positions had not changed; Erestor was on the far side of the bed, his back to the door, with Thranduil facing him, and Glorfindel was curved around the king’s back, holding him securely as they slept.
He was not certain what it was that had awakened him, but he listened for a moment, with sleep-dulled senses, and soon heard a quiet murmuring and felt a slight swaying of the bed.
Neither had yet realized that he was awake, so Glorfindel lay where he was, watching them over the curve of Thranduil’s shoulder. He could see Erestor’s hair draped like a curtain of shadow as he leaned over Thranduil and stroked his cheek with the back of one finger, whispering something that was too quiet for Glorfindel to make out.
As he looked on, Erestor lowered his head and lightly pressed his lips to Thranduil’s. It was apparent, even to a covertly watching spouse, that the kiss was intended to be chaste, comforting, that of one friend giving encouragement and solace to another. His eyes widened as Thranduil’s hands rose and clutched great fistfuls of Erestor’s hair, and their kiss deepened before his very eyes.
Rather than being taken aback, Glorfindel was struck by how beautiful they were, and wondered what it would have been like to watch them making love. Had Erestor even then made the same little mewling noises deep in his throat when Thranduil was buried deep inside him? Was it from Thranduil that Erestor had learned how to do that trick with his tongue that turned Glorfindel inside out and make his knees weak?
When they parted, Thranduil fell back on the pillow, his eyes closed. Erestor glanced guiltily over at his mate and realized with a sinking heart that Glorfindel was awake and was watching him intently.
Erestor felt the alien but not unwelcome flicker of Glorfindel’s thoughts brush his mind.
**What in the name of all that is sacred are you doing?**
**Forgive me, Glorfindel, I should not have let things go so far.**
Over Thranduil’s shoulder, Glorfindel smiled at him. **Nay, you misunderstand me, sweet. What I meant, was, why did you stop? Things were just getting interesting.**
It was then that Erestor realized that what he had mistaken for the dark glimmer of anger in his mate’s eyes was nothing of the sort.
**Glorfindel! Whatever are you implying?** Erestor returned his lover’s twinkling gaze with a querying look.
**Oh no, do not deny that you do not desire him still! I can feel your blood aflame even from here.**
**No… I will not deny it, but I am not certain it is a good idea.** He glanced uneasily at Thranduil, who still had his eyes closed, and seemed oblivious to the silent dialogue going on around him.
**This would not be the first time we have shared our bed with another; why does the idea bother you?**
**Because it is Thranduil,** Erestor protested, as though that were explanation enough.
**And because you love him? But that is even more reason, sweetling. He is vulnerable and needs to feel connected to another, to a piece of his past that is real and solid. I know of what I speak.** A brief surge of nearly forgotten pain flared in Glorfindel’s memory, hot and fierce.
In the shadows, Erestor dipped his head in apology. **Forgive me, my love.**
**Always, beloved. And together, we shall help him heal.**
Finally noticing that Erestor had not moved, Thranduil’s eyelids fluttered and he peered up at Erestor, his face flaming with humiliation.
“Ai Elbereth, I am sorry. I have made a fool of myself, and have taken advantage of you.”
“Hush, sweet. There is nothing for you to be ashamed of.”
Erestor bent and kissed him again, so sweetly that it brought tears to Thranduil’s eyes. “We would give you succor, if you would permit it.”
“We? By Morgoth’s iron crown, Glorfindel knows what I have done?”
“Glorfindel not only knows, but he approves heartily.” A throaty chuckle from behind him made Thranduil risk a wary glance over his shoulder, and met two darkened eyes staring back at him, glimmering in the flickering light.
“Thranduil… “ Glorfindel stopped, considering, and began again. “Please, just say yes. Do not make this difficult, and do not ask for reasons.”
“But – “
Glorfindel sighed. “I understand how you feel, better than you probably realize. I have been there, my friend, and it was only by the kindness and love that was shown to me that I was able to reconcile the pain of my past and begin to move forward.”
Thranduil knew better than to ask such a personal question, but could not stop the words that slipped past his lips. “Who – who was it?”
Glorfindel shook his head, his lips pressed tightly in refusal. What had happened in those first months following his return from the Halls of Waiting was of no one’s concern but his, and Erestor’s, of course. “It does not matter now, but know that we do not make this offer lightly.”
“Thranduil, please. Trust him. Trust us.” Erestor added, touching Thranduil’s shoulder.
Glorfindel noticed, with no small amount of amusement, that his lover’s earlier protestations had apparently disappeared like a puff of smoke on the slightest breeze.
Thranduil rolled onto his back and stared at the shadows dancing across the domed cavern ceiling. Finally, he nodded.
Without giving Thranduil time to reconsider, Erestor kissed him once more, nigh stealing the breath from his very lungs. Glorfindel curled around Thranduil’s warmth and nipped the nape of his neck, his ears, tweaked his nipples, his own erection pressed against his belly, nestled in the crevice of Thranduil’s backside.
Erestor and Glorfindel were relentless in their seduction – there was no way they were going to give him time to change his mind, for now that the decision was made, they wanted Thranduil as badly as he wanted them.
Thranduil turned his head, craning his neck, and Glorfindel kissed him deeply, taking the king’s throaty moans into his mouth as Erestor bent to lap at Thranduil’s nipples.
Erestor nipped his ribs, the little dip at Thranduil’s hipbone, and down the crease of his thigh, until he came to Thranduil’s growing erection. He took just the tip into his mouth, running his tongue around the rim and hollowing his cheeks, applying gentle suction, quickly bringing Thranduil to full hardness.
Thranduil moaned and tried to thrust into that wet warmth. Glorfindel palmed the long, smooth, shaft and encircled it, just managing to close his fingers around its girth.
“Dear Valar, Erestor, you fit this inside you?” he said, his voice mingled with equal parts amusement and awe.
“It was usually - the other way - around… oh gods,” Thranduil gasped, jerking forward, as Erestor’s hot mouth suddenly closed around his shaft and took him in deeply.
Glorfindel moved his hand up and down the thick base, working in tandem with each of Erestor’s movements. Up and down, in and out, first quickly and then more slowly. Erestor was sublime at oral pleasure, and Glorfindel knew exactly how good it must have felt to Thranduil. Already, the king was moaning, his body quivering as Erestor’s talented mouth brought him near the crest of pleasure, but never beyond.
Glorfindel swept Thranduil’s hair back, baring an ear, and traced the conch with his tongue, flicking the tip lightly. This did not elicit an especially enthusiastic reaction, so Glorfindel moved on to his neck. Hoping for a more eager response, he pressed a row of kisses from the top of Thranduil’s spine to his hairline, then along the fine wisps up to his ear, and down the tendons. Thranduil moaned a bit louder and turned his head a bit more, exposing more of the smooth flesh of his neck.
Encouraged, Glorfindel ran his tongue down the tendons and to his collarbone, catching a bit of skin between his teeth and nipping gently, not too hard, but enough leave a tiny red mark. The effect was instantaneous – Thranduil shuddered and thrust forward so sharply that Erestor retched and pulled away.
Erestor wiped his saliva-slicked lips with the back of his hand and glanced up at his mate, who was gazing worriedly down at him, Glorfindel a sheepish half-smile. “I should have warned you about that spot.”
“Aye, probably,” Glorfindel agreed. He climbed out of bed and shivered in the chill air. “I will be right back.”
Padding barefooted and naked across the room, he tossed another log on the fire, then disappeared into Thranduil’s bathroom. He returned a moment later, carrying a stoppered glass vial of bath oil, and crawled back into bed, tucking the small bottle between his thighs to warm it.
“Now, where were we?”
“About here, I think,” Erestor answered. Thranduil was unresisting as his lover gently pulling his leg forward, exposing his most private of places for Glorfindel’s use, while he used mouth and hands to lick and nip at those sensitive places that he remembered drove Thranduil into a frenzy.
Glorfindel wiggled toward the foot of the bed, kissing his way down the long, curved back, and set about gently but insistently opening Thranduil’s tiny pucker with wet swipes of his tongue, until Thranduil was trembling and gasping, eagerly thrusting himself back and forth between Glorfindel’s wicked tongue and the slow, steady strokes of Erestor’s warm hand on his erection.
When Thranduil was soft and pliant (which was, thankfully, before the heat of the heavy blankets over his head became stifling), Glorfindel slid up the king’s body and helped Erestor position him on hands and knees.
Glorfindel leaned over and kissed first Thranduil, and then Erestor, the piquant, musky taste of the king still sharp on his tongue.
Thumbing open the stopper on the small glass bottle, he spilled a palmful of warm oil onto Erestor’s shaft, giving his mate’s erection a few long, smooth strokes, grinning wickedly to see Erestor’s eyes roll back in his head, and then Glorfindel quickly spread the slippery liquid deeply into Thranduil’s body, mixing it with his own saliva.
In one long, drawn-out glide that he remembered Thranduil used to love, Erestor slowly pressed forward, pushing only halfway into the king’s tight heat, and stopped until Thranduil could adjust. Thranduil keened softly – it hurt, it always hurt at first – and Glorfindel kissed him deeply, swallowing Thranduil’s heartrending moan, until the pain ebbed and he relaxed and began pushing back toward Erestor, enticing him to begin thrusting.
“Wait a moment… there is something missing from this picture,” Glorfindel mused, sitting back on his heels and casting a shrewd eye over his lovers.
Erestor, on his knees, his hands gripping Thranduil’s hips lightly, buried halfway in the king’s comely backside, bore a grimace of determination on his face as he fought not to simply slam forward and pound Thranduil into the mattress. Thranduil was on his hands and knees, his golden mane sweeping the pillows, his cock thick and heavy between his thighs.
“Pray, hurry and figure it out, darling,” Erestor ground out, gritting his teeth. “You may have all night, but we certainly do not.”
Glorfindel snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, I know. Thranduil, scoot up a bit, and sit up on your knees, if you can manage it, then grab the headboard.”
Groaning in frustration, Thranduil did as he was told, wriggling forward so that he could raise his upper body and fold his arms over the carved oak bed frame.
Erestor scooted along behind on his knees, struggling to keep them joined. “You could not have thought of this before, I suppose?” he snarled.
Glorfindel gave him a mischievous wink. “One cannot rush genius, my love.”
He eyed their positions with a critical glance. “There, this is much better,” he remarked approvingly, and dropped down among the pillows to crawl underneath the king. Thranduil’s head dropped froward to rest on his own forearms, and he groaned as his aching length was taken into Glorfindel’s mouth.
As Erestor finally began thrusting, slow, long, and deep, Glorfindel worked the king’s splendid shaft with his mouth, one hand skillfully massaging the fleshy pouch underneath, and the other stroking his own erection, spreading slick oil and his own fluids from base to tip. They drew out Thranduil’s pleasure as long as possible, until they were shaking from the strain of restraining themselves.
Thranduil’s climax came upon him with the force of a thunderclap – sudden and intense. He shuddered and shouted as he rode out the waves of orgasm, flooding Glorfindel’s mouth with hot cream. Neither was surprised to hear that the name he cried out at the pinnacle of his pleasure was not theirs.
As the waves of Thranduil’s pleasure finally sent Erestor hurtling over the edge, he reached blindly for Glorfindel, still wildly stroking his own shaft, and the touch sent them spiraling into ecstasy together.
As gently as possible, Erestor pulled his softening length out of Thranduil’s body and he and Glorfindel lowered the king’s limp form to the bed. Thranduil was able to do little more than allow his lovers to maneuver him onto his back and rest his head on the pillow. They curled up again on either side of Thranduil, and pulled the blankets back over their bodies.
As their breathing slowed, and sleep once again claimed them, Thranduil snuggled against Glorfindel, Erestor’s arm tucked about his waist.
“Douse the lamp,” Thranduil mumbled, already slipping into a light doze. “The darkness is gone.”
* * *
Erestor and Glorfindel shared Thranduil’s bed often during the remainder of that long winter.
They were careful to keep any hint of the physical nature of their relationship from reaching Legolas’ ears. The youngest of Thranduil’s brood was remarkably mature for his age, and all three were certain that he would understand, but the fact was, there are simply things that adults do not discuss with their children. Especially when the child in question, no matter how perceptive or mature, has yet to reach his majority.
The time would come, one day far in the future, when Legolas would ultimately learn of the nature of his father’s friendship with the Imladris lords that cold and snowy winter, but that was not for many years, until Legolas was full-grown and had, himself, experienced firsthand the joys of love and perils of heartache.
Galion knew, of course – it would have been impossible to keep such a secret from him. Each night that Thranduil’s lovers stayed with him, the faithful steward vigilantly searched his liege’s chamber in the morning for a stray item of clothing, a slipper, a mislaid hair clip, or anything inadvertently left behind that would betray Thranduil’s secret. By the time Legolas arrived in his father’s chambers in the morning for their morning tea, as he had done since he was a toddler and able to climb out of his cradle on his own, all evidence was discreetly disposed of, the linens changed, and the air scented with aromatic candles and pine, every trace of spent passion eliminated.
It was not without cause that Galion had secured the enviable position as the king’s most trusted aide.
If Thranduil’s people noticed a subtle change in their king’s behavior and occasional minor lapse in etiquette, such as a furtive touch of the hand that lingered a few seconds too long, or a long, lean body held a trifle closer than typical during a dance at the traditional mid-winter festival, it was attributed only to a dear and close familiarity between their king and his Noldorin friends.
None of the three was so naïve as to believe that a long-term union was to be had, but they shared a great love and respect for one another in that long, cold season. Despite the acute, almost fervent obsession that Erestor had once harbored for the glorious Sinda king, his infatuation had matured and tempered into something more steady – the strong, mellow love born of shared memories and a long friendship. He loved Thranduil still, it was true, and always would, but not in the same soul-deep manner that he loved Glorfindel, his mate, his lover - an unshakeable, indissoluble bonding of two minds and two hearts that would endure until the breaking of Arda.
Glorfindel, on the other hand, had always admired and respected Thranduil, but prior to that winter, had not known the king well on a personal level, except as a peer and comrade, through Erestor’s anecdotes of their days in Lindon and their brief meeting at Dagorlad. Thranduil was charming, warmhearted, passionate, and so utterly enchanting that Glorfindel could easily see why Erestor had loved him so, and grew to love him as well.
At last, the day came when the winter snows melted from the passes and the trees were ripe with swollen buds, the breeze carrying upon it the scent of springtime.
It was time to go home.
Their true goodbye was said in private, where they made love slowly, and slept together all that night long, their bodies entangled in a jumble of limbs and sheets.
In the morning, under a bright and sunny sky, the king of Eryn Galen and his staff and family gathered at the Gate to bid their guests farewell. Young Legolas struggled against the urge to weep, but stood stoically at his father’s side and clasped their forearms one by one as the Imladris Elves said goodbye.
Erestor was the last to pass through the line. He kissed Legolas’ cheek and whispered something to him that made the young prince’s face light up, then winked and moved on to Thranduil. They embraced, and unseen by any other, into the king’s hand Erestor pressed a small object.
Glancing down, Thranduil saw that it was a talisman, made of hair – glossy black, sun-ripened wheat, and shining gold – woven into a slender braid, and bound at the ends with bits of ribbon. Glorfindel had made it, furtively removing a few stray strands of Thranduil’s from his hairbrush, and twining them with those he had clipped from Erestor’s head and his own, heating the ends to keep the braid from fraying, then securing them with bits of silk.
“Look to the heavens at night, and you will see the light of Eärendil, guiding your path,” Erestor said quietly into his ear. “Giltheliel walks among the trees of the Blessed Realm, watching those same stars, and waiting for the day that you will be reunited. Until then, carry this with you, and when sorrow again threatens to overcome you, remember us, and know that you are loved. Do not squander your days, Thranduil. Fill them with love for your family and people.”
With a final squeeze for the king, Erestor mounted his horse and the Imladris party set off into the woods. Thranduil waved until they were out of sight, then took his son by the hand and led his people back to their home.
* * *
Dearest Erestor and Glorfindel,
I hope this letter finds you both well. So many things that have happened here since you left that I scarcely know where to begin! Before I forget, Father sends his love to Lady Celebrían, and his regards to Master Elrond, and hopes to visit your fair valley within the next few years. He has even promised that I shall accompany him!
Do you remember my eldest brother Faelon? You met him briefly, ere you returned to Imladris. He was returning just as you and Lord Glorfindel were preparing for your journey. He must have had quite a welcoming, because within three months of his return, he announced the most joyous news of all.
Erestor, come next spring, I am going to be an uncle!
Father is elated at the thought of being a grandfather. He is making the babe a cradle, woven of spring grass and decorated on the outside with dried flowers and leaves that he has gathered, lacquered with some sort of shiny glaze, and padded inside with the most wonderfully soft wool that you could ever imagine. Faelon swears that the babe will be spoiled beyond belief, but Father only laughs and tells him that he has earned a grandfather’s right.
I have taken to heart what you said to me the morning you left, and have kept a careful eye on Father since then. He truly does seem to have recovered from his malady; he still has spells of melancholy, but unlike before, they do not overwhelm him. Father is… the change is nothing sort of wondrous. Once again, there is a light in his eye that I had feared gone forever. I do not know what happened while you were here, nor do I really wish to know, but thank you, Erestor. Thanks to you both for bringing Father out of darkness.
May the Lady’s light shine upon you until we meet again, my friends.
Devotedly,
Legolas Thranduilion
* * * the end * * *
Notes:
Eryn Galen = the ancient name for Greenwood the Great (source: Unfinished Tales)
Gilethiel = thanks to CoE for the translation “daughter of star-maiden” (or closely enough)