Lover of Fire by Encairion

Chapter 1

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Lover of Fire

"Aulë friend of the Noldor and lover of Fëanor" -Morgoth's Ring

She was the color of fresh tilled earth. Her voice was the music of the wind sighing through the tree tops. Her skin held the cool silk of green grasses. Her eyes were the golden brown of ripe corn stalks. Her hair was the soft white yellow of a Lilly bud. And she was too be his until the ending of the world. But this was Arda marred, and what should have been was not always what was.

A love for the untamed lands is what brought them together. Her heart dwelt in the living trees, in growing flowers, his in rock and stone, in making and shaping. They had loved long when time was measured in the stars, but that which brought them together was their undoing.

It started with his children. It was not the way of the Ainur to delight in the making of children. A companion many were given, such was his wife Yavanna, the green lady. But in the making and bearing of children the Ainur had no practice or knowledge, such things were discovered later with the coming of their father's children the First and Second born. Ilúvatar's children delighted in the loving of flesh in nearly equal measure with the delights of loving the spirit.

Aulë alone among the Auniu had felt this need. It had burned in him to make, to create, to discover. And so he made in secret the dwarves, and he gave to them all the love he would have given any true child of his flesh. But Yavanna, his wife and companion in all things, had been appalled at his needs, and feared for her own works of branch and root. And so the Ents were made.

Aulë felt only joy at his work, and rejoiced when his father Ilúvatar gave to his children lives and thoughts of their own, and he held the tree shepherds no grudge for their existence. But Yavanna drew away from him after his desires to create such independent life became apparent. And she condemned them as unnatural, and they spent time apart.

It was during their estrangement that Yavanna created her greatest work, the two trees. And to Aulë, it seemed she gave to them all the love that she had once born him. Long hours he watched her labor over her trees, tending them, admiring every leaf and branch.

Looking back to this time, when the trees were young, and the elves had yet to awaken, Aulë felt it was here he first stumbled from the path the One had laid for him. Yet he could not bring himself to regret his later actions. For how could he go back to his first love after the passions and torrents awakened in him by his second?

But it was during this time he first began to seek his forges as an escape. Where before he went only to create, and still spent many hours with his fellow Ainur, now he dwelt almost solely with metal and gem, and ever could his hammer be heard in the deeps.

It is said by Elves and men that, but for Melkor, the Valar were without sin, but Aulë knew differently. He learnt what it was to burn with a jealous fire in those days. Strange it may seem, to be jealous of trees, but so he was.

When not working in his forges, Aulë would spy upon Yavanna as she labored over her trees. And if he could be accused of jealousy then surely she could have the sin of pride laid at her door. For such was her love of her two trees, and greatest creation, it had become a great pride in her breast. She delighted in hearing the praise of her fellow Valar to no end, and could see no flaw in the work of her hands.

And so his love for Yavanna turned bitter and jealous, and she forgot him in her love for her own work. Aulë became immersed in his workings, and forgot the great work of Arda, and the fight against Melkor. He no longer sought tidings of the awakening of the Firstborn. And thus he might have continued for long Ages but for the swift riding of Oromë, and the bringing of the elves.

***

Aulë could not say when the change began. It seemed he had slowly drowned in the rush of feelings before he was even aware he was wet. At least that is how the Valar felt as he examined the object of his thoughts for the thousandth time. Yet, for all that he could not bring himself to regret the treacherous burning in his soul for the one who labored so close, and still so very far from him grasp.

Aulë had worked with fire for more years then he could count. It was an element of beauty to him. But also of danger. It could create and it could destroy. It could bring blessed warmth, and scoring pain. It was untouchable, unchainable. For who could catch fire, and mold it to ones will? Its beauty was beyond refinement. All it touched was either purified, to shine all the brighter, or consumed by its relentless hunger.

Fëanor was fire. He burned with a heat too intense, and too beautiful to control. Spirit of fire, so aptly named.

Aulë's dark eyes scanned over the burning fea next to him. He wondered, not of the first time, how Fëanor's fire did not consume him utterly. For Aulë could feel the heat of Feanor's skin, even from an arms distance. Even surrounded by the heat of the forge, he knew it was Fëanor's fire that was burning through his veins, or desire for it.

Desire. Another of those sins the Ainur were said not to possess. But desire was not always sin. So what of this desire he felt, was it too a sin? Was it wrong to desire the being next to him, oblivious of his thoughts. Was it wrong to want to posses this fire, to hold it, touch it.... It seemed no sin for the elves to have such desires and to act upon them, but was that all he wanted?

This desire to touch and hold the being next to him were new developments in his musings. But long had he watched this one. And the desire to posses the spirit within was not new. But what would he do with that spirit, were he given the chance? Long had he dwelt upon that thought, for surly this was the deciding factor. Did he wish to control and order that spirit to do his biding? He told himself no, surly not, yet what then? What would he have of that spirit if he could have anything? He had no answer.

But now this new desire had arisen. A bodily desire that had a definite clear path to completion.

Long had the Ainur studied and watched the Firstborn in all things, and Aulë knew full well what the manifestation of bodily desires meant for Ilúvatar's children. Yet, never before had he wished it for himself, and it disturbed him now to feel these urges. He dared not dwell over long on them, for surely it was unnatural of the Ainur to feel thus. If it was wrong to desire children of his own, as Yavanna claimed, then this desire must be a thousand times more vile.

He had been working with Fëanor in the forge, as was their wont, the day these strange urges had begun. Long had he been watching the young prince, and been drawn to him. Fëanor had been his apprentice many years now, and Aulë knew it was many more months then needed.

He was selfish he knew. Purposefully holding back from teaching Fëanor all he knew of the workings of Arda's flesh. And Fëanor knew it. Aulë had felt Fëanor's frustration growing day by day. Fëanor was no fool, and his appetite for knowledge was insatiable. Yet Aulë could not bring himself to let go of the little that held him there, with him, in that dark forge, far from the light of the trees.

So, that day, more then four months ago, had found them still at work together side by side in Aulë's forge. It was their habit it work long hours, and it was often that a whole day would pass them by in what seemed the blink of the eye. When such happened Finwë was known to send for his son, to rouse him out of his craftsman trance, as the king would call it, and bid him eat and sleep.

But on this day, it had been no servant who came to fetch the young prince, but a young elleth. Aulë had not paid her much notice at first, only later did his eyes rove over her with more the usual interest. She had red hair, the color of fire. Aulë later wonder if it was this that had first caused her to catch the young spirit of fire's eye. But Aulë had to admit, she had more qualities then a strangely beautiful hair color.

He had watched as the unknown elleth entered his forge without waiting for permission. She had moved as if she had been born in one. A forge was a dangerous place, and it was rare for an elleth, even a Noldorin one, to be at home here.

She had approached Fëanor, who was still immersed in the ruby studded necklace he was working on, from behind. Aulë had watched her slip an arm around his slender waist, her head coming to rest on his bare shoulder. Aulë, who had had a good view of his face, watched a lazy smile play over his perfect lips. Fëanor had turned then, seemingly oblivious to his mentors presence, and place his lips over the strange elleth's.

She had laughed, and pushed him away playfully, but he had only pulled her closer again, and deepened the kiss. She gave him no resistance this time, and opened her mouth, eager for more of his fire.

Aulë had felt his eyes narrow as he watched the young lovers kiss. He had seen such displays many times before, especially when the elves were young under the star light. They had shown no embarrassment at showing their physical love for each other, in full view of others. But such was no longer the custom among the Firstborn, and they had become more secretive in matters of the flesh.

But Aulë had felt this display was somehow different from the countless others he had watched. Not because the two elves did anything to make it so, but rather because of his own physical reaction to the scene. He had felt a shocking desire to caste the elleth aside, and feel his spirit of fire scorch his own lips.

Aulë had tried to banish such alien thoughts in the weeks that followed, but he had been weak. He had spent more and more time with his eyes lingering over the physical body that housed the spirit of his torment. But this too was not enough. He spent hours with Fëanor, but he began to feel that familiar jealousy for the time Fëanor did not spend with him.

He began wondering what he did in his father's halls. What amused him when not laboring over the forge fires. Though these thoughts paled in number compared to the amount of time he spent dwelling on the elleth with the flaming hair.

In the end he had given into his 'curiosity' as he called it to himself. He was not obsessed with the fire spirit that dwelt within a child of Ilúvatar, or so he told himself.

He followed him.

Did he feel a little shame at such behavior? Enough to shed the form he had held for years uncounted, and walk unclad and unseen, in his pursuit of fire.

He had watched him. Watched him as he ate. Watched him as he slept. Watched him with his father, and half brothers and sisters. Watched him throw sharp words at Indis. And he watched him with the red haired elleth. He watched him with her most of all. He had stood, formless and invisible to their eyes, as they made passionate love to each other. And he had burned with desire as he watched.

Since that first night, he had spent many more as a formless spirit. He worked as ever with Fëanor in the forge, but when Telperion's light filled the starry sky's he shed his form and watched the one his own spirit burned ever more fiercely for.

***

Aulë stood, hammer resting idly in his hand, as he watched his spirit of fire work. They were alone in the forge, as usual. And Fëanor seemed not to feel Aulë's gaze racking his form, or so it always seemed to Aulë.

But this day was different. Aulë would make it different. He had watched until he could watch no longer. If he did not sate this fire within him it would consume him.

He had told himself he did not wish to tame the spirit before him, but if it ran free and unchecked it would scorch him to ash, and all who touched it. It was too strong, too wild. And a wild fire was nothing if not dangerous.

Aulë determined to master this fire. He had said he wished it not, but he had only deceived himself. Had only been playing with fire to think he did not want the mastery of it. Yet he could still deny his true aims, and claim a fire untamed would but consume itself in the end. So, surly he only meant to help the wild fire that threatened to consume the being before him, not to claim it for his own.

Fëanor did not hear his approach, all his thoughts bent on his work. Aulë knew nothing of seduction, had never attempted it. He had never needed to ask for anything before, and there had never been anything he had wanted more then the being before him. To posses Fëanor in body would not be enough. He must hold his soul.

Aulë was not known for having great skill with speech. He was not a debater, he was used to using his hands. He decided to use what he knew best. Straightforwardness was his motto. He had no need for elaborate speeches, or honeyed words.

As he approached Fëanor he saw the elf's movements slow, his body turned slightly towards his advancing mentor. But he gave no other signs of awareness. Aulë had no words for him, only action. His large calloused hands came up to capture the smaller shoulders and slowly turn the other smith.

Fëanor's steady black eyes met his, unreadable. Aulë wished now that the elf was more open with his thoughts, more like other elves. But it was partly this mystery that drew the Valar too him.

Aulë paused, looking deeply into the dark fire. Eyes black as night, so black they reflected the bright light of the soul. Black fire. And then he closed the distance between them, his lips crashing into the waiting heat. Ah, the fire! He hungered for more, his spirit responding to the fire underneath his hands. He burned now too, it was intoxicating, unbearable, and he yearned for more. His tongue tasted the heat of the other's. He tasted the metal of the forge first, and then the taste of Fëanor under it, overriding all. And in that moment the spirit of fire was his, and it consumed him.

But then it was over. Fëanor had pulled his lips back, taken what the Valar offered of himself, sampled him, and mastered. And Aulë knew. He would never tame the fire before him, never would he be it's master. And he who would master had been mastered. In that moment he would give Fëanor anything, all of him, for but one more taste of that raging fire.

Fëanor laughed then. It was a laugh Aulë knew well, and he shivered at the sound, his own fire dampened in it.

Fëanor pulled himself from the embrace as easily as a flame escapes the hand that would cease it. And Aulë was left with less then nothing in its absence.

"Nay! And now thou hast revealed thyself before me, Aulë. Long thou hast watched me, but no more! I see thou now full well. Ye would keep the full knowledge of our craft from me, and bind me to thy will? Thou would posses fire! But all thee shall get is burnt flesh for thy efforts, for none shall tame me, I am no one's lap dog! For all thy effort to keep me with thee, now ye hast lost, and never will ye see me in this cage again!"

And with that Fëanor spun on his heel and strode up out of the forge, and to the light without a backwards glance.

Aulë was left alone. More empty now for the absence of that which he had known so fully yet so briefly. But he could not bring himself to regret what he had done. Time uncounted he had spent beside the gentle light that was Yavanna and but a moment of time, too brief to even count, with the spirit of fire. Yet he knew he had lived and burned more brightly in that one moment of time, but a drop in the great lake of ages, then he had, or ever would again.