sexual deviance by hennethgalad

Voronwë- sexual deviance

bingo...

Read Voronwë- sexual deviance

Voronwë - Sexual Deviance.

  Voronwë woke from another nightmare of the shipwreck, his heart pounding, his body damp with cold sweat. The violet moonlight lay in pieces on the marble floor, the chamber was empty, but the sound which had awakened him resumed, a fist hammered at his door.

 He frowned, baffled at the lateness of the hour and the urgency of the summons. He had no duties here yet, Turgon knew well that the nightmares haunted him, destroying his peace, depriving him of rest, causing his mind, and his bow, to wander... He must wait, he must rest, and recover his strength. The emergency must be dire indeed for even he to be summoned.

 He threw the door open, it was Tuor, his arm raised to knock again, flushed with wine, eyes heavy and troubled. Voronwë blinked and frowned at him 'Tuor, my friend, what ails you ? Can I be of service ?'  Tuor took a step back, lowering his arm, and swallowed.

 'Voronwë... I... I need to... I need to speak with you. I, ah, I apologise for the lateness of the hour...' he fell silent, his pale golden skin reddening like a ripening peach. He looked extraordinarily beautiful, and Voronwë could easily see why Idril Celebrindal, the lovely daughter of Turgon, king of Gondolin, would choose to marry one who was a mere mortal, for a taste of such an exquisite...

 He shook himself, held the door wider open and gestured. Tuor entered and Voronwë closed the door. The moonlight turned the smooth gold of Tuor's hair to silver, Voronwë thought of the famous painting of Thingol and smiled. But Tuor's mortal beauty was of a different nature to Thingol's, Tuor's features were more pronounced, the face square, with firm jaw, wide cheekbones, heavy brows and those ferocious eyes, the pale blue of a clear dawn, before the rising of the sun, that burned forth in his golden face, under his golden hair, piercing the mind, and the heart. 

  Voronwë sighed and kindled lanterns 'May I offer you wine ? A little something to eat perhaps ?' he asked Tuor, who moved nervously, a little more than a twitch, a little less than a gesture. His voice purred with the raggedness of suppressed emotion.

 'More wine, yes, yes why not, thankyou Voronwë. Once again I thank the Valar for bringing you to me. ' He paused and frowned 'Or me to you.'  Voronwë gestured Tuor into a chair, handed him a goblet and sat across the empty fireplace from him. Summer graced Gondolin, the artifice of engineers and gardeners had seen to it that every wall and surface was alive with growth. A great bunch of lavender, like the after-image of a firework in the silver vase in the fireplace, filled the room with their soothing fragrance.

 Tuor breathed deeply, sipped his wine and slowly his muscles loosened, and he sat at ease, staring at the lavender as at the ghost of a fire. Voronwë sipped his own wine and waited in silence for a while, but as the moonlight moved across the floor, he realized that even with the wine to loosen his tongue, Tuor would need help to unburden his mind.  

 'My friend, it would please me to share your troubles, the thought that I might be able to aid you, if only by listening, fills me with honour and pride. I am glad just to be with you, even if we only drink in silence. But will you not confide in me, for I percieve that your heart is troubled.'

  Tuor looked at Voronwë, his eyes suddenly widened for a moment, and then his face took on the bitterness of one of mortal race, suffering in old age after decades of torment. Voronwë flinched back, but the chair held him. He suppresed the urge to shiver, and smiled serenely at Tuor. Tuor leaned forwards, rested his elbows on his knees, the goblet hanging loosely in his long sinewy fingers. He looked up at Voronwë and sighed  

 'This requires more courage than riding into battle, I have never been so afraid before, I must ask you, no, I must beg you, that if I offend you in any way, that you will forgive me, and then forget that I ever spoke. For I would not risk our friendship for anything in the world, except...'  

 Voronwë smiled and finished Tuor's sentence 'Idril Celebrindal.'  Tuor's face shone, every part of him moved slightly, it was a small gesture, but in the silent moonlight it filled the air, as though he had sprung up with a joyful cry. 

  'Yes, my lovely Idril... In less than a year of the sun we shall be wed, and I will be happier even than Beren, for I still have both hands...' he laughed dryly at his dark jest 'But I am afraid, Voronwë, afraid of the scars I carry in my heart.'  They looked silently at each other, and Voronwë gripped the arms of his chair in horror. The beauty of Tuor was blinding, he was marrying the princess, many songs were sung of him, there was a portrait of him in Turgon's main reception chamber. A rare, precious beauty...

 Voronwë remembered the feral, snarling fury of the bearded, writhen Tuor when they had first met, but it was only now, seeing him healed, smooth-shaven to blend in with the elves, his golden skin glowing with vigour and wine, the curved, rose-coloured lips moist and slightly parted, that Voronwë understood both what Tuor was trying to tell him, and exactly what kind of thrall he had been.  

  Tuor saw understanding dawn in Voronwë's eyes. He sat back in his chair and drained his goblet. As though in a dream, Voronwë rose and filled their cups, then still in silence resumed his seat.   

 'You slew many of your tormentors ?'  Tuor blinked, and Voronwë frowned briefly, he had obviously missed the mark. It was not wrath that troubled Tuor. But Tuor spoke

  'I slew all I could, as I have told you. I do not think it helped me to heal. Perhaps it will save someone from suffering what I endured, but perhaps the sons of these evil men will come forth seeking vengeance, and war will be perpetuated until the world ends. But It is not of vengeance that I wish to speak.' he fell silent and drank his wine, the pale eyes looking intently into Voronwë's.

 Voronwë was at a loss, he felt like a bird of the forest suddenly plunged into water, his very muscles were bewildered, and he could not breathe. He sucked in a chestful of air and calmed himself as he had been trained in infancy. When he felt his pulse steady, he sipped his wine, met Tuor's eyes and said

 'I have prepared myself for your words. Believe me, our friendship is chief among the things I treasure, whatsoever words you may utter here.'   Tuor smiled, but there was a tilt in the line of his upper lip that hinted at doubt. Voronwë braced himself afresh.  Tuor, also braced, straightened in his seat, Voronwë, who had been in the front line in battle, recognized the gesture. He wondered briefly about communication, did it count as a gesture if there was no intention to signal ?

  But Tuor was speaking...  'I have told you that I was made captive and enslaved. But I did not... I could not... It is very difficult to speak of my torment. I work hard to block all thought of that time from my mind. But...' he paused and finished the wine in his goblet.

 Voronwë filled them again, and waited in silence.  

 'I have nightmares, every night. I wake up, covered in sweat, trembling with fear and fury... How can I go.. how can I go to Idril straight from the bed of my tormentors ?'  

  Voronwë froze, the breath seemed to turn to solid ice in his throat, these were words no elf could utter, it was barely tolerable to hear them, they sapped the spirit from him like the wound in a tree. Torture such as that perpetrated upon Tuor would destroy an elf. Even if something survived physically, it would no longer be immortal, even if the remains perpetrated no evil act, it would nevertheless bear a different name : orc.   

 Voronwë marvelled, mortals had been given many insulting epithets by the elves, most referring to their physical weakness. But in this one matter they had a strength of spirit and a depth of endurance that staggered Voronwë. He knew too little of mortals, he thought, they all did. He wondered if mortals knew themselves yet, and for the first time realized why the Valar had wanted the Second-born Children to arise of their own will and in their own manner. He smiled inwardly; at this point, the Wise would say, The Music of The Ainur guided the Eldar across the ice to bring word of The Light to the Second-born. Voronwë again, as he had always done, frowned briefly, it was as though the Eldar said to mortals 'there is a lovely place where we are going to go and live forever, but you can never go there. But you still have to do this, this and this, because these giant powerful beings over the sea say so. Ignore all the evil deeds our kin have committed...'

  Voronwë sighed 'Alas my friend, the Eldar have no remedy for what ails you. For us there is only death. True death, or a kind of living death. If it were possible I would advise that you seek healing among your own kind. '  

 Tuor leaped to his feet, wine splashed from the goblet onto the floor, both ignored it.   'My own kind !' he cried, and turned and strode toward the window. He spun round and looked at Voronwë, pale with fury, white lines highlighted the small muscles of the lips, his teeth clenched in rage. 'My own kind ? My father died for your king, my mother abandoned me after my father died, I was raised by elves! I barely speak the language of "my own kind", for when I finally encountered them at sixteen, it was not my conversation that interested them.' he snorted derisively, then sipped his wine 'But not only did my tormentors not speak to me, my fellow slaves would not even look at me. I can only suppose myself mistrusted, since I...' he swallowed, his voice hoarse, Voronwë could see the effort it was costing Tuor just to meet his eyes 'since I shared the bed of my chief tormentor.'  

 Voronwë found himself blushing, dark thoughts flooded his mind, images from books kept in locked boxes... Tuor was sitting back in his chair, looking at Voronwë with his eyelids half closed, his face pale and still. Voronwë was at a loss, he could concieve of nothing he could say or do to ease the torment suffered by Tuor. '

 Alas, I wish I could aid you, my friend, perhaps I have nothing more than the sympathy your tale wrings from my heart, but all I have I offer to you.'    Tuor nodded, sipped silently at his wine, and looked again at Voronwë

  'There is something you could do for me.'  There was a long silence. Voronwë felt a warmth rising through him, his heart was running like a deer, his mouth was dry. Tuor stood up, and Voronwë stood facing him, and held out a hand. Tuor moved his arm, but his knees folded under him, and only Voronwë, moving swiftly as the eldar can, saved him from falling. Tuor leaned back and looked up into Voronwë's eyes  

 'It is as a foul taste in my mouth, I would have you... have you use me as they were wont to do, so that the memories that will haunt my marriage bed will have the grace of the Eldar, and not the poison of mortals.'  Voronwë held Tuor firmly in his arms and looked kindly at him

 'Not all mortals are slaves or their tormentors, I have heard many songs of the valour of mortals, you yourself have won the favour of all Gondolin, even among the highest in the land, Turgon himself is devoted to you, his own daughter will wed you, a mortal. It is not your own kind you hate, it is evil; and there is evil in all kinds, even the Enemy was once good and fair, a mighty Vala, and balrogs were once maia, so the songs tell us. Keep your thoughts clear from your anger, for it is in the confusion caused by emotion that evil takes its chance to mislead us.'  Tuor sighed.

 'You are wise and compassionate, good Voronwë, but I need...' he stopped and lifted a hand, running a finger around the outline of Voronwës lips 'I need your help.' 

  Voronwë hesitated, part of his mind wanted to flee, not from Tuor but from the horror of his past, Voronwë feared his own reaction to that horror; but also the intensity of his own feelings, the fierce desire that Tuor's body, burning with vigour, breathing swiftly in his arms, had roused in him, like an opened furnace door, flames roaring out to greet the air. His eyes met Tuor's, and he felt Tuor's muscles unclench a little, Tuor's eyes softened, the lids drooped, he tilted his head back and Voronwë found his own finger tracing the fine lines of Tuor's lips. He leaned forward and softly laid his own lips against those of the mortal.

---

Chapter End Notes

bring back the pen. these gharstley word processors have been scrambling my stories, and my brain...