The Sharpest and Sweetest of Recollections by Dawn Felagund

The Sharpest and Sweetest of Recollections

Read The Sharpest and Sweetest of Recollections

Images were blurred, and my head ached when Laurelin coaxed my eyes open at the usual hour. I turned away from the doors that opened upon the balcony and the unrelenting light and groaned, wondering why, this once, I could not sleep in, could not silence the mewling voice in my head that called me to my work. My mouth was sticky and tasted sour. I had fallen asleep in my underdress and stockings. The rum. There was a Telerin rhyme I'd learned during my summer in Alqualondë: Liquor then wine, all is fine. Wine then liquor, you'll be sicker. Learned, but not mastered, apparently. The rum! I pressed the cool part of the pillow across my face for some small relief.

It had begun when I'd written Eärwen the week prior. "All is crashing into place," I'd written in a melodramatic moment, "like the cataclysms of the Ainur in the earliest of days, bringing what will be into fruition." The melodrama had been uncharacteristic but not wholly unintentional. The messengers that flew daily between Tirion and Alqualondë only rarely had a letter sack bereft of a letter from one of us to the other, yet we had not seen each other since the summer in Alqualondë when first we'd met two years ago. "The betrothal feast is next week," I had written. Eärwen had been invited; Olwë and his sons had responded in favor of attendance, but Eärwen had not. "I am summoning my resources to endure it: not enough linguists and too many metallurgists, the asocial tendencies of all of my people, Nolofinwë's difficulty in coping with that and his half-brother, and too weak of wine." I knew why Eärwen stayed away, but I wanted her here.

The letter worked.

An hour into the feast, a herald had announced the royal family of Alqualondë and there she was: Eärwen, at the back of the line, in a pale green gown that made her unbound hair shimmer like pearl, scanning the dais to find me with no thought of propriety, of acknowledging first King Finwë and Queen Indis as her hosts. Eärwen's easy smile was stiffened with worry, her gaze fixed on mine and filled with questions.

King Olwë spoke to make their apologies for tardiness, his voice soft and melodic but nonetheless filling the room in the same way that the crashing waves could be heard even over the tumult of the streets of Alqualondë at the height of day. "My daughter Eärwen," he said, "had many social obligations to discharge, as ever"—a ripple of laughter from those who knew the Telerin princess (I heard myself join in to mark myself likewise as a familiar, but I sounded false to my own ears and earned a questioning glance from Nolofinwë at my side)—"but did so in order to honor her great friendship with the Lady Anairë, which should symbolize also the long friendship between the peoples of the Noldor and Teleri." That roused cheers from the crowd. Eärwen's gaze had yet to leave mine.

Would that I had the power of mindspeak that some of our people do, I could reassure her that I am well but very glad to see her.

I had become more adept in the past two years in maneuvering through the social rituals that defined life at the Noldorin court—I had to be, for Nolofinwë very often suffered in this regard—but it still took several hours before I could maneuver myself adequately beyond everyone's notice to slip out the door and onto the balcony. No sooner did I step in the direction of the blessedly silent evening beyond the ballroom doors and a hand grazed my arm, a voice called my name. Many congratulations were offered (as well they should be; I still marveled that I, the daughter of a minor lord, had attracted the notice of a high prince) and many people wanted to drink wine to my happiness. At last, some spirited song being undertaken by Nolofinwë's younger brother allowed my escape. The last time I'd been out here alone was the night I'd first met Nolofinwë; he'd come to join me, and we'd talked about our work on Avarin dialects, and I remembered being glad, at his parting, to have earned his friendship. I'd had several glasses of wine inside the ballroom and felt laughter welling up at the memory. That had been a mere two years ago; now I stood again, in the same place, overlooking the tumble of neat Noldorin buildings down the hillside, with a slender silver ring upon my hand, betrothed to that same awkward young man to whom I'd lent a book, hoping such an act would elevate my father in King Finwë's regard but with no thought to myself.

"Anairë." I'd heard my name in that voice many times—more times, likely, than I'd heard it in Nolofinwë's—even though we'd spent only a season in each other's company. I wondered if Eärwen could see my heart pounding under the dark blue satin of my gown. I dared not look for the same on her.

"Oh you got out too," I said and immediately felt graceless for saying it. Eärwen laughed. "That is the difference between you and me, Anairë. I simply made my excuses and left."

"What were the excuses?"

"That I wished to see you." She'd brought a bottle—one of the squat, imperfectly shaped bottles of wavy glass that I remembered well from my time in Alqualondë and had not seen since—and two of King Finwë's delicate crystal wine glasses. She poured a generous splash for herself but paused over my glass. "How much wine have you had?"

I'd drank to my happiness with at least two dozen people before managing my way out here. "Oh … not much."

"Wine then liquor, you'll be sicker," she said and poured me a generous splash as well. "I received your letter. The tone of it … it worried me."

I took my wine glass of rum before Eärwen detected how much wine I'd really had and took it back. "I wish you weren't. I was merely being melodramatic. It is chaotic work, marrying a high prince. What I have gained in rank, I have lost in control over my own life. I had hired a seamstress to make my gown for tonight and then this was placed upon me"—I gestured at the not unlovely accouterment Indis had had made for me—"and so here I am, in blue, in Nolofinwë's color, not in claret as I'd intended. I didn't even know you were coming. No one told me." I downed half of the rum. There it was … sweet and sharp, the taste that recalled the bite of sand beneath my elbows, the ceaseless crashing of the sea, the poignant stars, Eärwen's kiss …

"I almost didn't come," Eärwen confessed. Her own rum was gone, and she was pouring herself a second glass. "Enough knew of us when you were in Alqualondë. I did not want my coming and the rumor of what it suggested to imperil your position here. I thought to see you at your wedding and then after when …" She did not have to complete her thought for me to know: After you are married and satisfied by your husband and so no longer tempted by me.

I've missed you, I wanted to say. I will always be tempted by you. I—

But I said nothing.

"So," Eärwen said. The rum chuckled as it ran from bottle to glass. "How is it? Being betrothed to a high prince of the Noldor?"

"He is my friend. I can talk to him. He understands me as few do. We pursue similar lines of work, although he has lately been far more concerned with governance than linguistics. But his heart lies in linguistics. He always reads my papers and is my greatest collaborator. Half of my work is his, I think sometimes, but he refuses any sort of acknowledgement."

Eärwen smiled. "I meant," she said coyly, "how is he in bed?"

"Oh! We—he—he wants to follow the custom. We are waiting for—"

"Dearest?" With the light from the ballroom behind him, he was a broad-shouldered silhouette, imposing, one hand resting nervously upon the doorframe. "I couldn't find you." He took a few steps forward and the silhouette gained clear gray eyes, black hair tidily plaited, and a kind face tight with worry. "I wanted to make sure … hi, Eärwen." She softened even him, coaxed out the lopsided smile I had seen less and less as the boy gave way to the man. "I regret that I have not yet had the opportunity to greet you properly," he said and held out his hands. She stepped past them and embraced him.

"You've grown since last I saw you!" I sometimes forgot that the children of the kings had, of course, grown up together and were as familiar as cousins. There was the lopsided smile again.

"I have," he admitted. "I think I'm done, though."

"Done enough to be married!"

"Lucky enough to have found Anairë is how I'd put it. I'd never imagined it was possible."

"Yes, the one to catch and keep Anairë is lucky indeed. You have no argument from me there." She lifted the bottle from where it sat on the balcony rail. "We are having rum. You should have some with us, provided that you have not had too much wine?" She clearly knew enough of Nolofinwë and his temperance; before he answered, she'd already half-filled her own glass to give to him.

"I have not. But you only have two glasses. I should take the bottle, being the man."

"Man, yes, but also Noldorin prince. It will be indecorous for you. I am Telerin. People expect all manner of audacious things from us; no one will be shocked by it." As though to prove her point, she lifted the bottle and swigged from it. It looked ridiculous at the end of her tiny arm. We all laughed, even Nolofinwë. Perhaps he'd had more wine than I'd thought. He swung his glass to his lips.

"Careful," I told him. "Sip it."

~oOo~

In Alqualondë, Eärwen had been the adventurous one, the experienced one. The first time she'd put her mouth on me, I'd never imagined such a thing—and such pleasure—to be possible. I always wanted what we'd done before, what I knew; it was she who constantly imagined new ways of making love.

So I was to Nolofinwë. That I was the first woman he'd been with was unspoken but no secret. I let him kiss me first, but it was I who first touched his mouth with my tongue, nibbled his lips, kissed his neck, placed his hand on my breast. It was there that he drew the line. Most times, he pulled his hand away. Other times, he kept it in place, unmoving (and never under the clothes), and became inflamed by it, nibbling my lips, kissing my neck, until he stopped and said his piece about wanting to follow the custom.

We were all staying that night as guests in the palace, and Nolofinwë was permitted to walk me to my rooms in the guest wing. Usually, he escorted me home in a group of other young people, and the women were always left off first (usually I first of all), but tonight, after retiring to the family's sitting room, when King Finwë proclaimed that the hour was such that Nolofinwë should escort me to my rooms, no others were summoned to accompany us and even my father, who had settled into a chair alongside the king and seemed quite content with his glass of port and the ear of the king, said nothing. Eärwen had settled beside me on a small divan and, as I stood, squeezed my hand and looked up at me with her eyes bright as the starlight on the sea. I knew that brightness: the rum that generated it; the wantonness it provoked. The blood of my own body coursed hot and heavy at the thought.

Nolofinwë's half-brother Fëanáro was near the door, slightly apart from the group, absentmindedly listening to the conversation and writing in a small book while serving himself from a bottle of wine at his feet. He glanced up as we passed and jabbed his pen in Nolofinwë's direction. "Remember what I told you," he said.

Nolofinwë and I said little as he led me through the palace to my rooms. There was a color in his cheek, a brightness in his eye, that was uncharacteristic, and once, he had a bit of difficulty with the uneven edge of a rug. I caught his hand to keep him from falling. "Pardon me," he said. His hand burned in mine.

We arrived at my rooms. "All should be satisfactory," he was saying, speaking slower and with more pronouncement than was usual even for him. to compensate for the addlement of drink, "but if it is not, I should like you to inform me immed—"

"You could come in for a moment, if you'd like," I said. I was remembering Eärwen on the beach: our first kiss, the way she lowered the top of her bathing dress at the sailing forth, her audacity in touching me as none had before. Her bright eyes were seared into my memory the way that looking upon too bright a light will leave vivid blots across one's vision, impossible to dispel save with time. I wanted to sear upon his memory like that; I wanted him to think of me as I thought of her.

I could never again have her, I realized. That is why, when she had heard of the love of the Noldorin prince for me, she had stayed away. But that realization did not stem my desire as I looked up into his face, swiftly losing its last traces of youth and coming to resemble his father who, in strength and in beauty, had led a people across an entire continent.

And to my surprise, he answered not about the custom, not about waiting, but said, "Perhaps for a moment."

I wished I'd thought to bring a bottle to my room, something sweet and heady, something to occupy our hands and mouths while we settled in beside each other. Eärwen would have thought of that; I managed only to get him to perch on the same sofa as me. He sat very upright, with his hands upon his knees, even as I could see the same desire in his eyes that he could surely see in mine. He looked quickly away. I sought for something to say to him. Usually we spoke of our work, and for long hours we could speak of such without tiring, but this was hardly suitable now. At last, I said, "What was it that you half-brother told you?"

He seemed startled that I'd spoken. "Whuh—?"

"When we left, your half-brother Fëanáro said to remember what he told you. What did he tell you?"

The color in his cheeks had paled somewhat but rose crimson again. "He told me, that in the minds of our people, we belong to each other now, that the marriage itself is only to seek the blessing of the Valar." He was twisting the silver band on his finger and staring intently at it as he did. He chuckled, soft and low. "He would say such a thing, who dispensed with the approval of our father and the blessing of the Valar entirely, took his marriage upon himself alone, and returned with not just a wife but a son in arms."

"But surely, now that we are betrothed, you can understand how, when they were so far from home and knew they'd be so long in returning, they would—"

"Oh, I do understand." He was making a red band around his finger from twisting the ring upon it so violently. "But one must—" He glanced up at me then and stopped.

I crossed the short space between us and put my hand upon the back of his neck. He lowered his eyes, his lashes lying thick and dark upon his cheek. His fingers brushed my arm at the elbow, which was all the acceptance I needed: I kissed him, and he needed no coaxing this time but opened his mouth to mine. He pulled me into him, and I began to unlace my gown, and this time, he took the invitation and slipped his hand inside. I didn't wish to compare him to Eärwen but couldn't help myself: His hand was rougher but his touch timid. When he brushed my nipple, he recoiled a bit, but I kissed him harder and held him close enough that he could not easily extricate himself. His began to kiss my throat hard enough to leave bruises, and I could feel his heart pounding against my chest. I knew from being with Eärwen that this was the point when we would pull away, hasten out of our clothes, and come back together before heat between us could dispel. We were dressed in formal clothes, which presented something of an obstacle to remove, but he was beginning to move his hips against me; now was the time. I drew back, Eärwen seared ever in my memory: on the beach the night of the sailing forth, slipping her bathing dress from her shoulders, the starlight redolent upon her hair, edging her bare skin in silver, suddenly and irresistibly naked before me.

I began to slide my gown from my shoulder, wishing that he might remember me as I remembered Eärwen and remember his first time as I remembered mine, but he put his hand to his face as though trying to rub a dream from his eyes. His breathing was heavy, his legs indecorously splayed and his arousal apparent, even to one such as me, who knew little of men, but he resolutely avoided looking at me. The top of my breast was bared, even as he said, "But as I was saying, one must master himself. We have only to wait a year."

~oOo~

He was outside my door for a long while, gathering himself, I assume, before I heard his footsteps carry him away down the hall to the family wing of the palace. I counted three hundred heartbeats in hopes that he'd return to me, explode through my door, sweep me into his arms and proclaim me irresistible. It was not so long ago that I had felt that way. I neatened my gown with trembling hands, and once the three hundredth beat had expired, dashed through the door and into the hall.

I didn't know in which rooms Eärwen was staying, but I hoped that some deep sense would reveal it to me as I blundered through the guest wing looking for any sign of her and finding none until, on my second passing, a door snicked open behind me and I heard her hiss my name: "Anairë!"

Her rooms opened on a wide balcony that overlooked the city, and she'd opened all the doors to let in the breeze. The night was warm with the last traces of summer. She was clearly naked beneath her silk nightgown whereas I was still wrapped in satin and petticoats for a party, red-faced and breathing hard, my hair a wilted, damp mess, pulled loose from its braids first by fumbling around with Nolofinwë and then undone further by my graceless dash through the halls. She sat me on the edge of her bed and loosened my bodice, then slipped it from my shoulders and cast it aside. This action, so easy and familiar in her hands, made me think of how I'd tried to do the same with Nolofinwë just a few minutes earlier, and I began to cry.

I heard the clink of ice in glasses and something being poured. "No," I said in a voice throaty and ugly with tears. "No more."

"It is fruit juice," she said. She held the cold glass to my cheek, then my neck, before placing it in my hands. "You will need it. You have had too much."

"Too much of what?"

"Of everything."

I began to laugh through my tears because it was my feeling that I'd not had enough. The heat of my desire had faded, leaving an ache of longing behind that served an insistent reminder of both my loneliness and my shame. She was fumbling behind me to undo my skirt. "Stand up," she instructed, "Step out." And then that was tossed aside too and I was just in my underdress, as naked as she. She returned to the bed and hopped lithely upon it, folding her legs underneath of herself, then clasped me around the neck and pressed her face to my shoulder.

"He told me," I said, "that his father will wish to abdicate one day and Prince Fëanáro will never be suitable to take the throne. So he must be lawful in all his deeds so that, when the time comes, people will feel that he can be trusted not to succumb to the habit, so unfortunate in Noldorin kings, of enslavement to one's selfish whims and desires." I began to laugh, and my laughter brought on more tears. "He said that it hurts for males, to leave aside desire like he did. He said it like it doesn't hurt for me, like I was the cause of his pain—not him! never him! who was presented with the opportunity not to suffer!—like he'd only made the sacrifice and done nothing to hurt me."

She said nothing. She freed the last of my braids and smoothed my hair and held me. The familiar feel of her body beside mine was a comfort.

"I think this is a mistake," I whispered, "to marry him. He is my friend, and I love him, but—" But he is not you, I wanted to say. I did not want my life to be so narrowly confined between law and expectation. In Alqualondë, I had found much beyond the bounds of law and custom, and I realized I didn't wish to relinquish it yet, or maybe ever. "Let me come back to Alqualondë with you," I whispered into her neck.

But she shook her head, and I realized that she trembled and wept. I had seen Eärwen so many times in joy and mirth; I had known her in passion and in slumber, in the silent spaces alive with shared thought and sentiment, but I had never seen her sorrow much less weep. "We will never go back to the Alqualondë that was," she said. "You will love Nolofinwë, and I will have my great love too. And though we will always remain great friends, we will someday return to each other as lovers, but the Alqualondë we knew that summer will be gone by then, and the memory of our joy that summer the sharpest and sweetest of recollections. But," she added, and she smiled through her tears, "do not despair. We have cause to be both sorrowful and glad, for we have yet long to wait."