In The Planting Season by Elwin Fortuna

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Chapter 1

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Year 472 of the First Age, early spring

"Ah, Ninnachel," Fingon said. "I have an errand for you. Here is a letter to my son, and I would have you take it to him. I know you are not a messenger, but I would trust no one else with this duty. Guard it with your very life, as I know you will do."

"As my lord wishes," Ninnachel said, bowing. They took the letter from Fingon's hand, looking at the king's seal holding the envelope closed.

"I will not require your services for at least fifteen days," Fingon went on to say, a small smile creeping over his face. "If you wished to return from the Falas in somewhat of a...roundabout way, I would never know or question it."

Ninnachel looked around them, seeing that no one was nearby, and smiled as well. "Well, it is the planting season," they said, mischievously. Fingon could not restrain a laugh, or a blush at the implications in the words and tone.

"So it is," he said, and added, a touch mischievously himself, "Field or farmer, I wish you joy."

"Why not both?" Ninnachel said with a wink, and departed to the sound of Fingon's laughter ringing out.

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Dear Ereinion

My heart was gladdened by your most recent letter, particularly the improvements in your spelling and penmanship. Your new tutor seems very competent, and I look forward to meeting her when next I come to see you.

It is likely to be a busy summer and I do not think will have time to visit before the plans I made with Maitimo come to fruition. It grieves me that this should be so, for there is danger, as ever, but thou and I, when have we ever looked upon each other without danger threatening?

I send you this letter by the hand of Ninnachel, one of my trusted bodyguard, who has served me faithfully and well. I would ask that if need should arise, that you keep a promise I made once to them, and render any assistance you may to them or their beloved, Baindir of Hithlum.

My heart aches to tell you a secret that has burned in me for centuries, one that rumour and gossip will no doubt let you know in any case. You know already that I have no wife, and that you are not the son of my body, though you are of my love and always shall be. But it may be so that you do not know why this is, and I feel that I should tell you now.

Long ago, in our youth under the Trees that now lie withered and darkened, Maitimo and I swore our love to each other. Such a thing is rare, but not unknown, and I have been given courage by the hand that bears this letter to you, to tell you of it, and to tell you something more.

Be not ashamed of love true and pure, Ereinion, for it takes the form that it will, in spite of all logic and reason. So is my love for Maitimo, and his for me, no matter the grief and sorrow that comes along with it. I would have all the suffering of our frequent partings, and yet love him as I do, rather than dwell in bliss all my days without him.

So at last I have said it, and a weight lifts from my heart. I hope that in days to come, I will be able to speak of the one I love openly and without fear. But that is a long road with only faint hope to light my footsteps, now, and darkness everywhere else. Yet I will strive against the darkness with all that is in me, and believe with all my heart that day shall come again!

Ereinion, beloved, may you be kept in safety. I will do all I can to ensure it, even as I have from the first moment I lifted you into my arms. If the Valar hear my pleas at all, they are for you.

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Baindir felt a faint brush against his mind as he made his way out to the fields that morning, a sudden spark of joy. Three hours later, when a fine white horse could be seen flying toward him, the one on its back wearing the armour of the King's guard, he smiled brightly and let the plow fall to the ground, waiting.

"Ninnia!" he said as the figure on the horse leaped down and rushed toward him. "Ninnia, beloved, I thought it was you I felt!" His arms went around Ninnachel, holding them close. "How come you here?"

"It was a gift," Ninnachel said, drawing back to gaze at Baindir fondly. "The King asked me to take a message for him to the Falas, and then as good as told me to come to you on my way back. I can stay for three days, perhaps, before I must go on." They brushed back a lock of Baindir's silvery-blond hair affectionately, and leaned in for a long and tender kiss.

"We should waste not a moment, then," Baindir said as the kiss broke, and picked Ninnachel up in his arms, armour and all. They both laughed delightedly.

"But the planting," Ninnachel teased, settling their arms around Baindir's neck and submitting happily to being carried across the field.

"Believe me, I do not intend to stop planting," Baindir said, lowering his voice in a way he knew Ninnachel found irresistible. Ninnachel grinned, and bent to lick the edge of his ear.

They never made it out of the field, that time.

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Much later, Ninnachel sat polishing their armour back to its customary brightness (and removing some of the grass stains which had appeared, earlier), as Baindir puttered about the kitchen, putting together a somewhat-delayed midday meal.

"What is the news from Barad Eithel, then?" he said, looking up at Ninnachel. "Is all well?" Ninnachel paused, looking out the window toward the North, for a moment.

"It is little secret by now that there are plans afoot," they said. "We will take the war back to the Enemy." A shining light came into their eyes. "If all goes well, we may see an end to our Black Foe before the year finishes."

Baindir frowned, laying down the cloth he was holding and making his way over to Ninnachel. "I worry, beloved," he said. "These plans may go astray."

"I know," Ninnachel said. "But what else can I do?" They took Baindir's hand, kissing it softly, that farmer's hand, calluses from plow and scythe. "We cannot run or hide from this evil, not forever. The West is closed to us, and Doom lies upon us, unless we strive to overcome it."

"Ah, you Noldorin," Baindir sighed. "Ever wedded to the belief that if you will not overcome the Enemy, none will."

"Who else would?" Ninnachel said.

Baindir smiled. "Well, a mortal Man and a Sindarin maiden did rather well," he said, teasing, drawing back his hand and pressing a kiss to Ninnachel's forehead where they sat.

"It is that which gives us hope that an allied army of Noldor and Sindar, Men, and Dwarves may yet do better," Ninnachel replied, lifting their chin.

"Are you sure I should not beat my scythe into a sword and join you on the field, Ninnia?" Baindir asked with a smile.

The armour fell with a crash from Ninnachel's lap to the ground. "No, you should not, beloved, else I fight in vain," Ninnachel said, gathering the fallen armour up again and laying it down more carefully.

"It is as well," Baindir said, moving away to gather fruits from the bowl where they were kept. "I have no stomach for such things, and I do not think Orcs fear qama." He grabbed a knife and began to cut the fruit up.

Ninnachel pretended to consider it. "An untried weapon, to be sure, but could be a powerful one." Their eyes were dancing. "Perhaps I should suggest it to the King."

Baindir laughed. "Don't you dare!" he said, shaking the knife in his hand at Ninnachel in mock threat. "You would too, you appalling creature, completely lacking any sense of taste and dignity."

They were sharing the steps of a very old dance in this conversation, so Ninnachel immediately shot back, grinning, "Which explains exactly why I'm with you, rather than someone far prettier."

Baindir was very pretty, and knew it well enough. "I'll have you know that before you and yours arrived in Hithlum, Noldorin, I could have had my pick of partners." He tossed his head back, the better to display his long silver-blond hair to best advantage.

"Of course you could have," Ninnachel said, standing up and making their way over to stand at Baindir's shoulder. "It was dark, they couldn't see you!" They put an arm around Baindir's waist. "But instead of all the partners you could have had, you fell for a scrawny half-starved Noldorin gwegwin. I'm afraid, my dear, it's not me that lacks taste." They breathed softly against Baindir's ear, and he shivered, putting the knife down. "Are we ever going to manage to eat something?"

Baindir turned around and pressed Ninnachel against the wall behind them. "I have something you can eat," he said, laughing, and bent to kiss Ninnachel, hard and hot.

The sun was nearly setting by the time they actually managed to have a meal.

-----

Later that evening, they sat together in front of the fire, Baindir's head on Ninnachel's lap, both of them lazy and warm, Ninnachel gently stroking Baindir's long hair.

"I've finished my book," Ninnachel said. "I brought a copy with me for you."

"Ah, the famous book," Baindir said. "Did you think of a title yet?"

Ninnachel shook their head. "Alas, no. You would think that by now, following hundreds of years of work, however intermittent, that I would have been able to think of a title, but I have rejected all that came to mind. You think of one for me, will you?"

"Can I see it?" Baindir asked. Ninnachel reached down into their bag, next to the couch where they sat, and handed Baindir the manuscript. The bag also contained a letter from the Prince to the King, carefully preserved.

"I still think you value yourself too little in your introduction, beloved," Baindir said after a moment of reading.

Ninnachel frowned. "It is the stories that matter," they said. "I wish I could have told them better."

Baindir smiled. "I like that one you tell about punching that horrible person in the face," he said. "But it occurs to me, reading this over, that you talk about yourself in relation to the stories you go on to tell."

Ninnachel looked puzzled. "Of course I do. My own body and my desires are the motivation for writing this. If I were other than I am, I would not be able to write what I have written."

"Why not call it, then, 'People Like Me', or better, 'People Like Us'?"

Ninnachel laughed. "That does work! And it's much better than 'A study of people who don't fit into the whole 'get married at fifty to someone of another gender from your own who is your One True Love, have some babies, perhaps three, live happily or unhappily with your spouse for the rest of time' thing', which was my fallback option."

Baindir stared in horror. "I have saved you from such a dire fate just now," he said sincerely. "I should be thanked. It should involve your tongue."

Ninnachel gave him a smirk. "Oh, well, then, I thank you very much!"

"Not the kind of tongue I meant," Baindir said and pulled Ninnachel down to him. Ninnachel managed to grab the manuscript and put it back down beside the couch before it was scattered, but only just.

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It was the end of their second day together, and Ninnachel was frowning at the fire as though they were trying to read something in the dancing flames. Baindir came over, settling down next to them on the couch. "What is it, Ninnia, why such a serious look on your face?"

Ninnachel turned to look at Baindir. "Foreboding, I guess. I was wishing I was better at osanwe. I tried to communicate with you before I arrived but I'm not sure you felt it."

"I did!" Baindir said. "It was vague and indistinct but I remember feeling a joy, brief and certain, unrelated to anything going on in my own head, a few hours before you arrived."

Ninnachel let out a breath of relief. "Good," they said. "For that is when I tried to send it." They took Baindir's hand, caressing it with their thumb. "I do not know how things will go, but I know our plans indicate Midsummer as the likeliest time for battle to be joined. If things go ill, I have one request of you - keep yourself safe. Make your way to the Falas and give your name to the young prince Ereinion." Ninnachel sighed softly, laying their head down on Baindir's shoulder. "For the King also gave me this gift, and the prince will take you in, if need be."

"How will I know if things go ill, in time?" Baindir said, worried, pressing a kiss to Ninnachel's dark hair.

"I will try to tell you," Ninnachel said. "I will put everything I have into it, in a way I did not before, and the feeling should be much stronger. If you feel it, know that I am on the point of death, and the battle will be lost, and that we shall not see each other again on these shores. But I would not have you captured and suffering - that is a fate I fear far worse than my own death."

"I will listen, you have my promise," Baindir said. "And if your warning reaches me, I will do as you ask."

Ninnachel smiled softly, raised their joined hands and pressing a kiss to Baindir's. "Then I am at peace," they said, "and will be able to fight without fear as I fight for you."

Baindir could not resist trying to lighten the mood a little. "I thought you fought for the king?" he teased.

Ninnachel smiled up at him. "I fight with the king," they said. "We fight for you."

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Dear Father

I am grateful that you could tell me the truth of what I thought I saw between you and Uncle Maitimo from my earliest memories. Your eyes always changed when you spoke of him, and you always laughed more when he was near. If hope should not fail, I would be glad to see you both speak openly of what has been in your hearts for so long, and not leave all to rumour and innuendo.

I will do as you ask with regard to Ninnachel and Baindir of Hithlum. Indeed, I found your Ninnachel most interesting, and spent much time in conversation with them. Did you know they are writing a book about people like them, unusual people? I was especially intrigued by their points about biology intertwined with philosophy; that the reality of biology gives the lie to any strict division between male and female, and that combined with your comments about how love takes the form it will, suggests to me that there is far more variety to be found than the laws given by the Valar allow for. I suspect that not much study has been done regarding this, and I hope that one wiser than I will be able to look into it, at some point.

I am saddened that I will not be able to see you for such a long time, but hope that your plans succeed, and that I will be able to come home to Barad Eithel at last. I do love Falas dearly, but I think my heart is in the misty hills of Ered Withrin, and I fear that I may never see it again, the way things are going.

If I were older, and more skilled, I would beg to fight beside you on the battlefield, but alas, I am not. There will be battles in the future that I am needed for, this I know, and I hope that we will draw swords together, one day, but not this day.

Long ago we made the choice to be brave together, and so it will be: you shall be brave there, and I will be brave here.

I send back this letter by Ninnachel's hand, and with it, all my love.