Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Requital

Eönwë gets his... revenge?

 

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13. Requital

 

I arrived at my chambers and locked the door behind me. The carved window shutters were almost closed, casting orderly rows of diamonds on the tiled floor. Darkness and silence were all that I wished for, to rest and to think. I slipped out of my ceremonial robes and sat on the bed. For a long time, I stared bleakly at the sparkling dust caught in the bright beams of light, swirling aimlessly in the warm air. A faint sound made me turn sharply.

‘Chéel?’ I asked.

The shape that came out of the shadow was that of Nikteháa, dressed in a plain linen dress, barefoot and with her head wrapped in a servant’s shawl.

‘Eönwë!’ she sobbed, rushing into my arms, to which she clung desperately.

‘I was sick with worry,’ she explained when she finally wiped her tears and nestled against me, as she used to. ‘There was a loud outcry when my father arrived very late at night, but no one seemed to know the reasons, and he would not let anyone see him, not even Sakxikin, to whom he refuses nothing. The following day I came here and your servant told me of your arrest. One of my maids is betrothed to a guard in the King’s company, and he found out where you were imprisoned. I rode up to the hills… I threatened to kill myself if they did not take me to you.’

Ironically, the genuine terror she displayed when she burst into the scene had only served to add the final touch of authenticity to Mairon’s ploy. Angrily I wondered whether he had conveniently engineered her discovery and eased her entrance into the fortress, without Chakmóol’s knowledge.

‘I have just returned from speaking to your father, Nikteháa. It was all a most unfortunate misunderstanding,’ I lied, soothingly. ‘I am well now, can you see?’

I stepped back, and let her inspect my face and arms, where only the faint hues of faded bruises and healed scratches remained. She raised one hand and touched my cheek lightly.

‘I thought Síináan would have you killed,’ she whispered, approaching her face to mine, until her breath sighed on my lips. ‘I even prayed to your gods; I asked the Star-queen to watch over you and allow you to live. Eönwë, she heard me and you are alive!’

She laughed with pure joy, while my heart went cold. Too many times had I fruitlessly called on the Valar during my first days in Endórë, and again during my ordeal of the last few days. Those who had once called me kin had forsaken me, of that I had no doubt. The pleas from a young woman in a remote land had little chance of swaying them into clemency on my behalf.

The delicate touch of Nikteháa’s lips on mine, soft like the petals of the lotus flower, pulled me away from bitter thoughts and back into the awareness of reality. She pressed the curves of her body against me, and I felt her hand slip under my tunic.

‘My princess…,’ I protested, and pecked her cheek in return, while my hands gently trapped hers and kept them from wandering. Her eyes gleamed at my rejection, but she proudly held back the tears.

‘Will you not have me, Eönwë, just once?’ she pleaded.

I ached to feel the kindness of her love; my hröa stirred, keen to know her soft flesh. Suddenly, the choice was made.

‘I will have you for as long as you live, my flower,’ I spoke softly. ‘As my wife.’

‘You do not love me, Eönwë.’ My heart lurched when I saw her lips tremble.

‘I will love you, Nikteháa,’ I vowed sincerely. I grasped her by the arms, maybe too possessively, because her eyes went wide in alarm. I freed her at once. ‘I will. I do. I always have.’

‘Not like you love him,’ she objected. ‘He hurt you, did he not?’

Unable to deny her words, silence betrayed my answer.

‘Your wound will heal, if you do not let it fester,’ she said. Her dark eyelashes fell, and a tear escaped and sped down her cheek. ‘Do not tempt me. However much I once dreamt of what you offer now, I cannot accept you as my husband.’

I looked at her in wonder. Young, she was, delicate and mortal; her life would flare and fade like a shooting star briefly gracing the night sky with its brilliance, but she was also wise and strong, with the pride of a queen. I fell to one knee and kissed her hand reverently, as if she had been the Star-kindler herself.

At that time, I cast away my crumbling principles to abide by the law of the Eldar. I rose, lifted her in my arms and laid her on the bed. She stared silently into my eyes, hoping, wishing. My fingers brushed a lock of stray hair away from her brow; I leant down to kiss her, not gently this time, but with the fierceness of a lover. She yielded to my tongue with closed eyes, until at last I felt her struggle for breath, and I broke the kiss. She tasted of ripe peaches.

My mouth was dry, and my heart was beating fast. ‘Will you favour my regard?’ I murmured, cringing at my own stilted words. 

She smiled. ‘With joy, Eönwë.’

Timidly, she began to undo the ties of my tunic, and I helped her undress me, relieved when modesty was gradually replaced by excited playfulness. I reciprocated, unhurriedly divesting her of the clothes that made up her humble disguise, until her flawless skin lay bare and warm next to mine.

‘Do you know...?’ I asked. She nodded.

My hands were hesitant at first; hers were guiding and encouraging, until we both learnt what pleased her best. I caressed, tickled, and teased every nook of her body; I wreathed her skin in a web of kisses. In return, she gave me the tenderness Mairon would not, endearing in its inexperience. I soaked it up, relishing the freedom of showing her my devotion, if not my love, in every way I could think of.

She thrashed and moaned when I opened her folds with my tongue to taste her sweetness, her fingers clenching the sheets when I first entered her; she mewled and moaned as she abandoned herself to the mounting waves of bliss. I shall never forget her beautiful face, enraptured by pleasure when she reached her peak.

And yet, despite her shapely breasts and curved hips, I kept wishing for Mairon’s body, imagining I could hear his voice crying out for more. No matter how desperately I tried to banish memories of him from my mind, I could not help regretting that the beauty and the passion in my arms did not belong to him.

Much later, when Nikteháa lay in my arms, content and exhausted, I made a new attempt.

‘Let me go to your father tomorrow…’

‘I will refuse you, before the whole court, if I have to. It would be embarrassing, Eönwë,’ she spoke in a sleepy voice, pressing her face against my loose hair and breathing deeply. ‘You smell like…’ She paused, her eyes closed, as if in deep concentration.

‘Sweat?’ I volunteered teasingly. ‘Soap?’

‘No, neither, but better!’ She laughed. ‘You smell like a warm breeze in the hills, on a late summer day when heather is in bloom.’

‘What a ridiculous thing to say!’ I chuckled, feigning a mirth I lacked.

For a while she drew swirling shapes on my shoulder with the tip of her finger. Later, it drifted down my collarbone and up my neck and chin, until it reached my lips. I touched it with my tongue, and then nibbled it gently.

‘I must leave, Eönwë,’ she said at last.

‘Will you let me woo you, my princess?’ I queried, kissing her eyes.

‘No,’ she answered firmly. ‘Whatever has happened between you and Annatar, I will not become the wedge between you.’

She got dressed and slipped quietly out of my room, leaving me to brood about my callous selfishness. The assessment of my failings only served to darken my mood even further.

A while later, a sharp knock disturbed my gloomy thoughts.

‘Eönwë?’

The sound of Mairon’s voice rekindled my fury but this time I threw caution to the wind. I would not be named a coward, forever sheltered from his presence within the four walls of my room. With a growl, I flung the door open and stepped out boldly to meet him in the corridor.

‘Are you well?’ he queried, in a concerned tone that I scanned for any hint of mockery. Fortunately, I found none.

‘Indeed I am, though I am surprised you even care,’ I snarled. ‘I am well, despite your amusing entertainment at my expense. I hope your lust was thoroughly sated and you laughed heartily with your minions when you watched me weeping and begging for death in the dust.’

I was surprised when he turned pale.

‘My plan was not…’ he began, raising his hands placatingly.

‘Damn you and your plan, Mairon! To the Void with you, and may you rot there!’ I shouted, shaking with anger. I clenched my fists and stepped forward. He backed away. ‘Blast me to Mandos or be gone! I care not what you do, but get out of my sight!’

He hesitated, as if he would speak, but in the end he turned and walked away. I braced myself against the wall, suddenly weak. When the sound of his steps faded, I entered my chambers again and slammed the door shut.

I packed a few travel clothes and a handful of coins into a bag, then wrapped a few small gifts, wrote a note to Chakmóol and a longer one to Nikteháa, in which I poured out my love and regret, and left everything on my bedside table where Chéel would find them in the morning. After placing all my saved wages and presents from Mairon and my counsellor pendant inside a locked box, I dropped the key inside a scrap of folded parchment, sealed it with wax and savagely penned his name on it. Then I waited.

An hour before dawn, I took my sword, my horse bow and a full quiver and climbed down from my window into the garden. I let myself into the stables, careful not to wake up the snoring groom sprawled over a few bails of hay, and saddled my chestnut mare Chakiik’ [1], a sturdier and less temperamental animal than my fiery stallion. Without looking back, I led her quietly to the street through the discreet servants’ entrance. As soon as the gates opened at sunrise, I briskly rode out of the city, with the sun on my back and a knot of anguish squeezing my chest.

A week of travel would take me to the edge of the large desert that marked the border of Chakmóol’s realm to the west; I would need to find a way to cross it and remain alive. After that, I had no other plan than to flee from Mairon before he could hurt me further. Perhaps I would seek Macalaurë instead of heading directly towards Lindon. I did not care.

That day, the hours crawled by slowly as I wallowed in self-pity and regret at the unwise choices that had ruined my life in Kiinlúum. Although I stopped twice to let my horse drink and rest briefly, I kept a fast pace, wishing to be far away from the city, as if distance could fade my despair.

After the sun set, I left the road and made camp under an ash copse next to a gurgling stream. I hesitated about lighting a fire; in the end I did, if only because my hands could not stay idle. I also curried my mare’s coat until it shone like burnished copper in the firelight, sharpened my dagger and checked all my arrows. I strung my bow and waxed its string, emptied my pack and filled it again, ordering my few belongings in a different way. In the end I ran out of things to do. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I leaned my back against a tree trunk. I could not fall asleep, and kept staring at the dance of the crackling flames, remembering the joys and terrors of my last few years with Mairon, from sparring to hunting, from passionate kisses to the blazing sting of his whip. Had I ever been more than an interesting experiment to him, a plaything, a spirit to control and break?

Suddenly, I raised my head at the rustle of the nearby bushes. I jumped to my feet and unsheathed my sword. Seemingly out of nowhere, Mairon walked into sight, hands raised to show he was not armed. An empty gesture, when we both knew he could slay my hröa with a mere touch if he wished to.

I muttered a foul curse in our tongue, that spoken with Power would wither the blossoms of all the trees in Aman. Several times during the trip, I had looked back to check that I was not being followed. Clearly, I had not been careful enough. Instead of lowering my blade I poised it at his throat. He did not flinch at the touch of the sharp steel tip.

‘I can understand why you would wish to skewer me, Eönwë, but I bid you listen to me first.’

‘What do you want this time, Mairon?’ I asked sharply. I was in no mood for pleasantries.

‘You,’ he replied simply. ‘I want you to come back with me.’

‘Or what?’ I snapped. ‘Will you have me arrested and executed? Or will you flog me until I collapse to the ground so that you can carry me over your shoulder as a trophy?’

His dark eyes flickered in the amber light, maybe in anger at my words.

‘I will do nothing,’ he said mildly, and hesitated. ‘You have always been free to leave. You still are.’

‘Am I?’ I snarled. ‘Good. In that case I have finished with being your toy. There is no need for more words between us.’

A strange expression crossed his face, and for the first time, he looked at the blade. He followed its length to my hand, then upwards to my eyes. I did not move; neither did he.

‘I am sorry, Eönwë,’ he said at last.

My heart missed a beat, my hand lost its steadiness and the blade gleamed like lightning. But in an instant I regained control.

‘Are you, truly?’ I sneered. ‘You have never spoken a word of apology, Mairon. Ever! Why would I believe you now, when your lies are so convincing?’

‘Will you put down your sword?’ he asked. My hand did not waver.

‘For you, I endured every trial you devised, I obeyed all your rules, however humiliating or painful, I called you “Master” and gave myself to you. All of that in exchange for drops of ephemeral pleasure and crumbs of tenderness. Hoping, ever hoping, in vain…’ My voice  broke.

‘But this time… this time you made me believe that I was guilty of ending your life in these lands, you deceived me with the purpose of making me forsworn on a promise that you all but discarded as an amusing jest. You must be proud of how thoroughly you fooled me.’

He lowered his eyes. I was glad he did not attempt to justify himself with smooth words. Dropping my sword, I shook him violently by the shoulders; he did not resist, though I felt him tense under my tight fingers.

‘Is there nothing sacred to you?’ I roared. ‘Must you destroy everyone, even those who love you?’

When he remained silent, I let go of him, disgusted.

‘Are you evil?’ I asked, disheartened. ‘The truth this time, Mairon.’

He raised his head and looked at me. There was no shade of anger in his eyes, only resignation, even defeat.

‘Perhaps I am,’ he replied slowly. His tone was not defiant, but plainly dejected. ‘Perhaps I can no longer be anything else. Like a vase that has shattered to pieces on the floor, I can never be whole again.’

‘But a vase can be repaired, with patience and care.’

‘Some of the pieces are lost, Eönwë. He took them to the Void.’

My pain at his despair was almost physical.

‘He is gone, Mairon. You are free now!’ I exclaimed.

I reached out to him but he moved back brusquely, as if my touch burnt him. Shaking his head, he raised his starry eyes to meet mine. Even in the dim light I could see them shimmer.

‘Why do you keep me at bay? I am not he!’ I insisted. ‘Why do you barricade behind your role as master, and refuse what I offer? Why did you trample on my dearest wish?’ My voice wavered as I struggled to control my anger, stirred from its temporary slumber.

‘I had to show you that what you wished for was an illusion, that I was not one to be loved,’ he replied. ‘He… I was hurt once and swore never to give myself to another again. I wanted to kill your love, to make you see who I really am. Hatred I understand well, but… I was afraid. I wished to defeat you, to make you yield all to another and thus prove the falseness of your vow.’

My breath caught in the painful knot that constricted my throat. He carried on, maybe unsure of what my silence meant.

‘But then… it was all wrong. I saw you give yourself to be enslaved in order to save me; you would have sacrificed your freedom, when no one has ever given me anything, unless spurred by terror or seeking deceit, but never willingly or selflessly.’ His usual proud composure was gone, his fists were clenched at his sides, his head lowered.

‘I was stricken by the depth of your grief when you believed me gone. I did not know what to do. I hoped you would soon recover, as ever before when I hurt you. Had I not stayed within your bounds, I thought?’ He paused and shook his head.

‘Later, when you rejected me, I realised how cruelly I had wronged you. I wish… Forgive me.’

Over the years, I had encountered Mairon’s many guises: the eager apprentice of Aulë, the smooth merchant, the dark lord, the amiable host, the wise counsellor, the demanding master, even the defeated enemy, but never before had I beheld true desperation in his face or heard a plea in his voice.

‘See for yourself…’ he whispered.

The world faded in the visions that wrapped around me when he uncovered his mind. I glimpsed perilous paths swirling over dark chasms of malice and bright clouds of beautiful symmetry, but I was drawn towards a flicker of scenes in which I was the centre, from the remote times of our friendship before he embraced Melkor’s teachings.

Mairon’s memories and feelings pulsed across my mind in a dizzying dance, bringing up my own deluge of emotions. I flicked through them, dwelling longer on those I remembered with fondness. Finally, I settled on the immediate past and watched myself beg for his life, then squirm on the floor, torn with grief; I saw the look of revulsion in my eyes at the discovery of his deception, my bruised, dirty face turning away in disgust; I relived our last meeting before my flight from the city, when I confronted him, wrathful and, in his mind, beautiful. I was almost crushed by the waves of his bitter remorse and deep yearning, first denied, later accepted, and now longing with vacillant hope.

The visions dissolved into shadows, and I returned to the real world, filled with swaying amber light that painted his perfect features in charcoal and ancient gold.

‘What must I do to regain your trust, Eönwë, to earn your pardon?’ he queried, no longer humble despite seeking forgiveness, but anxious, even demanding.

Anger flared anew within my chest. When he had knelt before me in Beleriand, I was the mighty Herald of Manwë and he feared me; now I was a lowly outcast, unable to rule my own fate, let alone his. Did I deserve no sign of his contrition?

My glance caught the gleam of my discarded sword on the leaf-covered ground. I picked up the blade and trained its tip over Mairon’s heart. He did not try to stop me; neither did he flinch. Instead, he spread his arms out to his sides, as if to invite me to strike.

‘My hröa’s death? Take it!’ he offered hoarsely. ‘I swear I will not stop you.’ He stood in perfect stillness, eyes raw with emotions I could not read, waiting.

I sucked my breath at his unexpected surrender.  For a few agonising heartbeats, my tumultuous, discordant feelings for Mairon warred viciously, clashing and clamouring for victory. One prevailed easily above the others and yet I hesitated, out of caution learnt too painfully and too late, out of bruised pride and righteous wrath.

For the second time, I let the sword fall from my hand.

Tentatively, I closed the distance between us. On impulse, I touched his silky hair that gleamed with bronze hues in the glow of the dying flames, running my fingers over its smoothness. Boldly, I pulled him towards me and kissed him fully on the lips, softly at first, then fiercely, wishing him to yield, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt me. Cradling his head in my hands, I grasped at clumps of his hair to bring him even closer, and he passively let me ravish his mouth. As always, I became lost in the taste of iron and fire, in the consuming heat that was Mairon, or Sauron the Abhorred. Evil or virtuous, it mattered no more. The inner voice that still warned mistrust had been smothered and locked in a small dark corner of my mind.

I tore off his clothes, snapping fastenings and almost ripping fabric, until every corner of his golden skin lay bare before me. I admired his glorious nakedness, bathed in warm firelight; my eyes feasted on the teasing play of light and shadow that caressed his sublime hröa.

‘I want to love you. All of you, without rules or limits,’ I whispered huskily.

His violent shudder startled me, until I recalled the thunderous tremor that had shaken my prison when he had been threatened. His supplicant look only served to stir my desire higher. I had forgiven, but not forgotten, his cruelty. The memory of his artifice still made my blood boil, and I briefly toyed with the idea of savouring my vengeance there and then, of having him on his hands and knees while I buried myself in his fire, a pleasure I had never sampled but often dreamt of.

‘I cannot demand what you will not give freely, Mairon,’ I relented at last. ‘But I wish to hold you in my arms, to touch you as I will. If you truly want me at your side, I shall be your lover, not your slave.’

He nodded, relieved. To mark my words, I pushed my need firmly against him.

‘Surely I can be of assistance to divest you of your clothes?’ he queried, perhaps with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

When I nodded, he wasted little time to act his offer most attentively, even crouching to help me take off my riding boots.

I spread my blanket on the grass and pushed him down onto it, on his back. A flash of apprehension marred his face when I straddled him, but he said nothing. I paused to relish the sight, the unguarded beauty beneath me, and I smiled at the thought of what I would do first. For years, I had pictured this moment in my mind. I bent down and kissed the scar on his collarbone, dragging my lips gently over its curve, feeling the slight irregular contours of his otherwise perfect skin, soft like silk over muscles tensed into hard knots. I drank of his scent, then I tasted again the fire of his mouth.

Very gradually, he seemed to yield as he began to react to my passion. I explored every other plane and hollow of his body with my hands and lips, and laughed when he became ticklish and tried to slap me away. First my hands, then my mouth, took care of his swelling desire until at last he moaned his pleasure and cried for more. I smiled triumphantly.

Soon, we wrestled playfully, bodies entwined, fingers no longer caressing but raking and clutching, possessive and fierce as if our very lives depended on feeling and owning each other, no longer a master and a slave. Several times he gripped my wrists to pin me down, but the protest in my eyes reminded him of our terms, and he let go at once.

For the very first time, I was free to choose the moment of our release. Rolling us both over until I lay on my back, I lifted my legs to his shoulders, and he expressed his gratitude in the most ardent way. We flew up to the brightest vaults of Eä together, and I floated back down onto firm land to find myself in his embrace, watching his lips curve into a smile of joy that was surely mirrored on my own face.

‘Am I forgiven, Eönwë?’ he ventured at last.

I frowned, feigning deep concentration.

‘I am not absolutely convinced of your repentance, Mairon,’ I answered gravely. ‘Actually, I must demand further proof of your good faith.’

With a chuckle, he smacked my rear; then he proceeded to systematically ease any remaining doubts.

 

‘Naturally, we should not neglect our gem-cutting sessions,’ I murmured later, maybe too impulsively. I lay contentedly in his arms, savouring his mere presence while staring dreamily at the branches that rustled above. He tensed around me, startled. I smiled at him and was rewarded by a priceless look of disbelieving wonder.

Sunrise found me asleep. It was only when Mairon tickled my face with a twig that I woke up. I was utterly spent, and happier than I have ever been, even before my banishment.

‘You were not a dream, then,’ I whispered.

‘Does this feel like a wisp of a thought, friend?’ he replied, guiding my hand to his hardness. I was startled at how quickly my own loins responded.

A few hours later, our lust thoroughly sated, we made our way back to the city. During the day, we alternatively spoke merrily and fell into long silences, during which each of us was busy with his own thoughts. We spent another passionate night under the stars, even though we could perhaps have rushed through the gates before sunset.

When we arrived home the following day, Mairon invited me to move to the set of chambers immediately next to his, and to share his bed. Stunned, I accepted.

Entering his bedroom felt strange, almost like trespassing into a forbidden realm. Previously, I had only been there to fetch clothing or other objects for him, or to serve him in other ways, but never in bed. Unlike most of his other partners, I had been purposefully excluded from that intimacy.

Mairon sat on the bed and patted the spot next to him, but I stood a few paces away, still lost in wonder, in the place where I had customarily knelt in the past. With a loud sigh, he rose and took my hand, invitingly pulling me in.

 

 

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[1] Chakiik’ (Yucatec) red wind (from chak = red and iik’ = wind)