At least Elegance, at most a Revelation. by Urloth

At least elegance

Read At least elegance

“I shall forever wish that true gold thread could match your hair for there is no way I can truly capture your likeness upon this cloth…” With these words did Indis fall in irrevocable love with Míriel Serindë into whose service she had just entered, hand upon her slender sword, the other over her heart as she swore before king and kinsman that no taint of Melkor would ever assault the frail queen or her lovely child.

Míriel smiled at her from her nest-like throne, once an impressive thing of metal and stone her husband had made for her though it had been replaced with a wicker bowl filled with cushions and blankets so that, like an egg shell, there was no way she could fall from it and break upon the unforgiving ground. It was not out of vanity that Indis fell though her vanity was well fed by the Queen’s regard for her appearance. No it was when she dared to glance up through her lashes and saw her reclining there, the light of Laurelin and Teleperion mingling in the cloud like whirls of hair that a thin chain band of gold held back from her face, a tear shaped sapphire dangling from each link. Her neck was so slender, her smile genuinely warm and her eyes were the most intriguing almond shape, thick dark lashes and a silver iris. Her hands moved as she talked, unconsciously fluttering before her in a graceful, second language. She was poetry in the flesh and Indis was Vanyar enough to have a very deep and abiding love of poetry.

“I am honoured but not worthy of being a subject of your tapestries my Queen” she protested some time later, weeks or months, when Míriel once more bemoaned the qualities that gold thread lacked. Indis had grown used to the palace and more comfortable around her Lady though the sight of Míriel invoked in her a storm of fluttering sparrow wings. Each day began with Indis rising, preparing her mind and body to guard her Queen only to go weak at the knees when she arrived at Míriel’s rooms to break fast together with her as the Queen requested.

“Ah but you looked so fantastical…” the Queen murmured as she buttered soft, sweet bread and nibbled it, sharp teeth flashing through raspberry lips. Indis felt her mouth go dry and occupied her shaking hands with pouring spiced apple tisane for the young prince who was sitting up in his own little chair, fluffy black curls haloing his head, his eyes blazing brighter than the light of Laurelin drifting through the high arched windows. “So beautiful in your delicate lacquered armour and with your sapphire adorned sword but still as lethal as any man… no more so” the Queen gestured unconsciously, bread still in her hand, eyes blazing with the same light in that of her little boy’s as she mapped out in her mind the way she would capture the scene in thread. Indis felt her face get hot and knew her cheeks had gone pink and so she ducked her head while Míriel giggled a little at the flustered face of her bodyguard.

Months turned into years. The sweet little boy became a rambunctious brat of a child and Míriel watched him longingly as he ran through the gardens and tussled with his father, wrapped up in her blankets with Indis loyally sitting beside her. “This is how I pay for my greed in wanting to raise my child Indis, and love my husband…” the Queen gestured to her blankets and the flush across her face from the fever quietly baking her body which had come upon her a few days prior and refused to leave. Indis held her hand, stomach dropping at how delicate bones now seemed like dry twigs, ready to snap at any second. “I gave what I could have given to one hundred children to that one child so of course balance had to be achieved somehow” Míriel softly mused, sighing as Indis helped her sit up a little more. “They could not dare let me birth another like my Fëanáro.”

“My husband no longer visits…” the Queen confessed in the evening of the same day as she sat in bed and let Indis braid the long river of her silver hair. “I am no longer desirable.”

“No my Lady, you are still imminently desirable…” Indis confessed without a thought and her stomach lurched but Míriel simply cupped her cheek and smiled in delight at such words, kissing Indis’ forehead before she lay back against the pillows. 

“He no longer kisses me on the mouth…” Indis felt sour and thought Finwë fool beyond measure for passing up any opportunity to lavish the berry lips of his wife with attention. “No longer holds me tightly, but as if I would break…” thin shoulders slumped and Indis ached and raged with impotency as she tucked her Queen gently into bed and watched her eyes flutter shut for aching moments before they lifted again, bringing relief to her heart as she saw Míriel was still in reverie.

“I will kiss you for him then…” she whispered, feeling a boldness in her that she had not felt in the long months of her service, not since she had begun to feel such unbecoming need for her Queen. That courage that had made her seek out her brothers to learn how to master a sword, made her seek out her kinsmen when she felt her brothers were only coddling her, made her turn up and drill with the other youth despite being outnumbered by males ten to one, that courage had deserted her within hours of pledging herself to the service of the Noldor Royal Family. Oh she had not turned into a shrinking violet, let no one even look wrongly upon her charges for she would be there waiting with retribution but she had lost her courage none the less. And as the courage had rushed out the dreams had rushed in; she dreamt of kissing slender shoulders, worshipping the small rounded breasts and gently scrapping her teeth over the generous flare of milky hips. Oh and then she dreamed of darker things, of her tongue stroking and probing, her fingers sliding into heat and tightness and all the noises her sweet, fair Queen would make. Her courage returned to her now, most inconveniently but she was already acting on impulse before irritation set in, pressing her lips to the slightly parted ones before her, whimpering softly to herself at their softness, at the giving nature of them, the slight taste when her tongue crept out to stroke before she was pulling back, sure she had felt a presence by the door.

No one was there.

She shook a little, finding that she was drenched with sweat and panting as she stood from the bed and glanced down at the sleeping, trusting form of Míriel Serindë to whom Indis had a duty. She squared her shoulders and adjusted the dirk hidden in the sash of her dress, then the openly displayed sword that never left her hip. She spared one last glance towards the Queen before she closed the door and took to her own bed once she was sure that there was a guard on every possible entrance to the family quarters. 

“The Raspberry Jam was

All the sweeter

When my mother

Forbade me to taste”

She murmured to herself as she undressed, her mind refocusing on what she had stolen, right under the nose of the King, from the Queen. She should have been racked with guilt but as the light of Laurelin fully disappeared and Teleperion’s light ruled the atmosphere she found her lips were curled into a gleeful smile and she raised her hand to them knowingly. 

“Ink runs from the corners of my mouth

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.”

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Chapter End Notes

Poetry is at least an elegance and at most a revelation. ~ Robert Fitzgerald

“Ink runs from the corners of my mouth

There is no happiness like mine.

I have been eating poetry.” ~ Mark Strand

I had this planned as a nice long thing with lots of berry themed poetry all through it. Then I discovered there is a lack of berry themed poetry. Curses! Foiled!