and the song (forever) between us by Astris

and the song (forever) between us

They found each other at the time of mingled gold and silver, far from the huddled shadows of the great castle, near the outer limit of the city. Both wore clandestine clothing, for news of the King’s eldest daughter meeting in secret with a poet of the court would have made for fine gossip indeed.

And what were they meeting about, after all? Only trivial things, things that were strange to go to such pains to hide. But Findis considered Elemmírë a friend - closer than a friend, though she doubted the other would approve of such. Meeting with her thus in secret sent a thrill through her, the delicious satisfaction of holding a secret.

Elemmírë lifted the hood of her cloak. She kept one hand behind her back, as though hiding something. “Milady. What brings you here at such a late hour?” There was a teasing note in her voice, and Findis replied with a smile.

“Merely a wish to bask in the light of Telperion. What do you have in your hand?” she added. “Some token for another you meet in secret, perhaps?”

It might have been her imagination, or a trick of the strange, shifting light, but Findis thought she saw a flush of red spread across Elemmírë’s cheeks. “Nay, only a bundle of flowers I happened to pick from beside the road. You may have it, if you wish.” And before Findis could reply, Elemmírë thrust a bouquet of neatly ribboned daisies and violets into her hands.

“Elemmírë, what--”

“Alas, I must take my leave now.” Elemmírë turned on her heel and began to stride away. Bewildered, Findis looked down at the flowers in her hand. There, nestled among the leaves and blooms, was a scrap of paper. She unfolded it, curious, and found four lines written in Elemmírë’s perfect script.

And as she read, a flame flickered to life in her heart, kindled anew with hope.

so the princess blooms in the dusk, as flowers
leeward of the fortress do gleam hesitant.
hopeful always, the poet waits, to yearn and sigh,
wishing for kisses.

“Elemmírë!”

The poet turned, gaze unreadable. “Milady?”

Findis crossed the gap between them with four trembling steps, reaching out to grasp the sleeve of Elemmírë ’s robe. The soft cotton rasped against her fingers as she pulled the poet close, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips.

“I have a large supply of those,” she whispered. “Write me more poetry of this kind and I shall never deprive you.”