Eithel Ivrin by hennethgalad

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Chapter 1

Eithel Ivrin. - 

   Finrod had finally stepped out of the dim, smoke-filled tent into the brightness of the thousand fires of Mereth Aderthad. The wisps of cloud lingered, thinning, in the east, but dawn would not diminish the myriad stars for some time. His eyes were drawn to the dark silhouette of the nearest of the Ered Wethrin, the mountain from which flowed all the springs of Ivrin. He grinned; he would climb the mountain and see the whole of Mereth Aderthad like a glowing lake at the feet of the mountain range. 

   He moved slowly, affected by the excellent, free-flowing wine. But as the fires became hidden by the trees, his head began to clear, and with the sky brightening slowly behind him, he came upon a pool from which the stream he had been following descended in a cascade of little waterfalls, overhung with fern and mossy branches. The first bird sent a flourish of sparkling notes into the air; Finrod, delighted, wished he had brought his harp, in order to pay tribute to such fine musicianship.

  As the chorus entered, Finrod looked at the clear pool, deep enough for a swim; the swaying, green water-plants had a few fawn-brown fish flickering amongst them, or nosing the sand, but otherwise the waters were empty and inviting. He followed the crumbling sandy bank, holding aside the branches reaching out over or into the smooth water, and turned into the other half of the curved pool, where a sandy beach no wider than a horse at gallop lay scattered with fallen leaves. A gorse bush had strewn its golden flowers like a long cloak about its feet. Finrod sighed happily and looked about him; high above, the sunlight was already upon the peak of the mountain, below among the trees the shadow retreated. Finrod threw off all his clothes and ran laughing into the water, but like all who had crossed the ice, he did not enjoy the cold and soon swam ashore, spread his cloak under the gorse and lay down to rest.

 

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He was awoken from his daydream a little later by a splashing, and a golden head appeared at the curve of the pool, golden arms flashing through the water. Finrod hoped it was someone he knew, but the figure who rose naked from the water, shaking his golden hair and filling the air with flashing jewels of droplets, though familiar-looking, was a stranger. Finrod froze for a moment, a memory, old and almost forgotten, hovered in his mind, the beauty of the stranger was heart-stopping, but there was something more, almost musical, a sense of harmony. He knew he had stared too long, but knew also that the stranger must be accustomed to such a reaction. Summoning all the years of training and practice in good manners at his disposal, he stood

  'Welcome to the pool of the golden flowers' he said, smiling and holding out a hand.

  The stranger, reaching out to take his hand, looked down, froze, then siezed Finrod's hand and held it tightly. In a soft voice, with a hint of hoarseness that raised Finrod's hair, the stranger said

   'Is that what it is called ?' and looked down, then up again into Finrod's eyes. Finrod could only be appalled at his own reluctance to release the stranger's hand. He glanced down at himself, and blushed as he realized how very pleased he blatantly was to see the stranger, and found his eyes had already observed a similar reaction.

  Finrod's eyes met the shining blue eyes, which seemed to blind him, the features were so beautiful they created a dazzle. Finrod's body and will were paralyzed as his heart studied the stranger intently. But he could not move his hand, he could not even wish to move his hand. It was if he had, after despairing at the end of a long and withering quest, finally attained his goal

   'Better than a silmaril.' he uttered, before his mind could prevent it. The stranger smiled, the long lashes were drying, the long eyes sparkled, the irises complex meshes of gold, grey and vivid blue, his very skin shone.

  'Me ? Or the golden flower ?' he said, the tremor of laughter floating through his words.

  Finrod blushed and lowered his eyes, but not his hand. The stranger lifted his other hand and laid it gently on the back of Finrod's hand

   'Please forgive me, it is my way to jest, when any sensible person would know it to be unfitting. Your surmise is correct, I think, that something has happened here with us today, and it was no illusion of the Enemy, for he loathes the light, it will not be his plaything.'

   He shook himself and looked down at Finrod's cloak 'It is for the host to offer seating to the guest. Or we could retire by yonder tree where my own cloak lies ?'

   Finrod swallowed, and gestured to his cloak 'Forgive me, I am seldom robbed of speech, nor of my manners. Please sit at ease.'

  The stranger threw himself full-length on the cloak, crossed his legs and put his arms behind his head. He was so magnificent that Finrod wanted to polish him like a fine piece of furniture. He blushed again and sat cross-legged facing the stranger. There was a long silence. Finrod found his mind in turmoil, his upbringing demanded formalities, pleasantries, introductions...

  But another part of his mind was urging stillness, silence, there was something of the hunt in the sensation, in their minds, between them. Here lay the stranger, in the pose of surrender and of submission, yet Finrod knew himself to be utterly at a loss, without the experience of either the physical or the emotional to guide him. The stranger lay at ease, like a pile of smooth timber, coated in honey.

   Finrod felt dizzy, overwhelmed. He turned his eyes to the stranger's and said quietly

  'Tell me what is happening. Please.'

  The stranger smiled up at the sky and looked at Finrod out of the corners of his eyes. He frowned briefly. Then he sat up, crossed his legs and looked curiously at Finrod

   'Do you not know ? ' he said softly. They were silent again, exploring each other's eyes, and the flickers of colour and expression as they learned the contours of each other's faces.

   After a time, the stranger smiled 'It is love, beautiful stranger, and I pardon your ignorance, for though I have had much physical pleasure, and shed many tears, I have never understood the tale of Thingol and Melian, until this happened.'

  He put out his right hand, but Finrod put his left hand out and held it, and the tears sprang in his eyes. The stranger looked thoughtful for a moment, then at the gorse, then back to Finrod 'Have patience, I will be swift.'

  The stranger smiled and stood up, Finrod felt his throat, his whole body, tighten as he watched him reach up to tear strands of ivy from the tall tree behind the gorse, morning sunlight polished his honey-gold skin. The stranger deftly twisted a garland of ivy, plucking gorse flowers and winding them in among the strands. He smilingly placed it on Finrod's head, then, even more swiftly, shaped another for himself. The golden flowers seemed to blend with the golden hair of the stranger, now drying in the spring sunshine. The garland seemed a part, a living part of the stranger, for it moved as he breathed, and seemed always to have been there, golden as the rest of him.

  Finrod felt his hand being taken again, but did not look away. There was silence again, Finrod, still grasping after the memory of politeness, said

  'Thankyou.'

   The stranger gave a slow smile, and in a soft, delicately amused tone said 'You are welcome. ' They were silent again. Finrod was at a loss, he could find nothing within himself but the pressing desire to put his hands upon the stranger's smooth golden skin, and taste the salt of him. The stranger leaned forwards until his face was almost up against Finrod's. Finrod moved forward.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

tune in next time...  

 

second version.

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