Flowers of Vardarianna by Zdenka

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Chapter 1

“Who is the next to seek an audience?” Míriel asked. She was in one of the smaller audience chambers; she had no true power in matters of state, but there were some matters the King considered unimportant, and Míriel took every advantage that she had.

Her secretary consulted her list. “A noble lady who wishes to join this court and become one of your attendants.”

Míriel took the proffered scroll and glanced over it. Any lady who reached this stage, being allowed to present herself for the Queen’s service, had already been investigated by the King’s agents. She found nothing to surprise her; the lady’s name was Adûnaic, her references were impeccable, and her background gave no hint of suspicious association with Elf-friends. “Let her enter.”

The lady was admitted. Her honey-colored hair was dressed with pearls; she kept her eyes modestly lowered as she approached the Queen. She made a proper formal curtsey, then raised her head with a sudden brilliant smile.

Míriel went still, feeling the shock of sudden recognition. When she was young, when her father brought her to Rómenna to visit Amandil, there was another girl who played with her. They ran along the beach and splashed in the water while their parents spoke of graver matters; and when it was time to return to Armenelos, Míriel kissed her farewell with a child’s innocence. Many years had passed, but Míriel did not forget that girl’s face; the face of the woman who stood before her now.

Míriel kept her expression carefully impassive; the other, too, gave no sign of recognition. “You are welcome to Court, Lady Abârith,” she said formally, though in her heart she whispered Astarien.

The Queen was seldom alone; etiquette dictated that she spend most of her days surrounded by attendants and servants. She could not arouse suspicion by demanding to speak to her newest attendant alone. She would wait; if, as she suspected, Astarien was sent by Amandil, she would find a way to give Míriel some token of it.

But Míriel wished to give her the chance to speak. Sitting in the midst of her maidservants, she called Astarien over. “Abârith,” she said, “come here and tell me which of these ribbons goes best with this gown.”

It could not be suspicious; they were in full view of a dozen ladies, every word they spoke able to be overheard. Míriel raised the lid of her ribbon-box so that their hands were concealed. Astarien gave her a quick glance and took a ribbon between her fingers. Deftly, she twisted it into the shape of letters, forming a word in Quenya: hope.

Míriel drew in a breath and let it out again. Placing her hand over Astarien’s, she traced on her skin: Amandil?

Astarien shivered and drew back her hand. “Yes, my lady,” she said, “you are right.” She picked up a dark green ribbon. “I think this color is better.”

Now that Míriel knew the truth, she could detect it in small ways: a proverb that Amandil favored, a gesture or a turn of phrase. But what she saw, other less friendly eyes might see as well. On a warm day, she often chose to spend an hour or two outside in the gardens with her attendants. She had chairs brought into the gardens and cloths spread on the grass, so that they all might enjoy the fine weather. Amid the laughter and conversation, Míriel took Astarien’s arm to walk back and forth along the paths, always keeping in the sight of her other ladies. Pointing to a vardarianna tree adorned with white blossoms, as if she spoke only of the flowers, she said, “You must be more careful.”

“How so, my lady?”

“You pause in silence before you eat or drink anything. Your lips do not move, but some might guess that you are silently saying the blessing. Yesterday, you quoted a proverb that is a saying in Rómenna.”

A look of chagrin crossed Astarien’s face. “Your pardon, my lady. I will pay more attention.” After a moment she added quietly, “I was told that you were watched closely, but I did not truly understand until I came here.”

“There are few I can trust,” Míriel said, “and the days grow dark. It is a bitter thing to know that a careless word or gesture might endanger one who has done no harm.”

“Yet there is still beauty and sweetness to be found in Númenor,” Astarien said, smiling. “Let your heart be refreshed.” She broke off a spray of white flowers from the vardarianna tree and offered them to Míriel with a bow. Míriel turned the twig between her fingers, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the flowers and bark.

Somehow, over the following months, Astarien’s presence came to seem essential to her, until she could not imagine what her life had been like without her. One evening, Míriel sat in a chair, clad only in her shift, while Astarien combed out her hair before bed. She had dismissed her other attendants. She could not single out Astarien by keeping her every evening, but Míriel was best pleased when it was Astarien whose hands undressed her, drew out the jewelled pins one by one and loosed her hair from its coiled braids. It was a rare opportunity to speak in private, to pass on information that Amandil should know; but more than that, Míriel felt most at peace when Astarien was by her side.

They had already spoken of the messages from Rómenna, carried in secret, but it occurred to Míriel that there might be more personal messages also. “Do the messengers also bring you word of your family?” she asked, as Astarien’s hands drew the comb through her hair. “Are they well?”

“Yes, my lady. My parents and sister are well. My sister is betrothed, and she is soon to wed,” she added, and Míriel could hear the smile in her voice.

Míriel felt a sudden unpleasant jolt. She herself had no hope of happiness in marriage. But perhaps it was not the same for Astarien. For all she knew, Astarien too might have a young man waiting for her in Rómenna among Amandil’s people.  Míriel could not say why it suddenly seemed important for her to know. “Abârith,” she said, careful to keep her tone level as if it were a matter of no importance, “have you ever wished to marry?”

Astarien’s hands went still. “No, my lady,” she said fervently.

“Truly?” Míriel said curiously. “Marriage can be happy, if the couple are well-matched in spirit. I would not forbid my attendants from marrying, as it is said Erendis did. I would not keep you here if you wished to leave the Court.”

Míriel heard Astarien set down the comb. “No, my lady,” she said in distress. “I do not wish to marry, nor to leave your side.”

Míriel felt an odd anger, but she made herself smile as she turned to face Astarien. “Why are you troubled? I will not force you to marry. But perhaps someday you will wish it.”

Astarien drew in her breath, then fell to her knees before Míriel. “No, my lady--my Queen. I will never wed any man.”

Míriel’s smile faded. The way Astarien was looking at her-- She did not wish to lose Astarien to some man of Rómenna, nor to anyone. Before she could stop herself, she reached out to touch Astarien’s cheek in a light caress.  Astarien caught her breath. Seizing Míriel’s hands, she brought them to her lips, pressing a kiss to the palms.

Míriel swallowed, finding her throat suddenly dry. To see Astarien kneeling at her feet like a lover-- And then Astarien raised her eyes with a look of adoration. Like a lover indeed. How had she not realized? “Astarien . . .”

Astarien shivered, and Míriel realized it was the first time she had spoken the other woman’s true name. “My Queen,” she said in a low voice. “Only let me serve you.”

If Míriel allowed it, she knew that Astarien would content herself with this, a chaste, loyal adoration; but something in her rebelled against it. She was seized with a sudden fierce desire to have something of her own, to grasp at happiness. “If you wish to serve me,” she said unsteadily, “then come here.” She raised Astarien to her feet and pulled her closer. Astarien ended up half in Míriel’s lap, her arms wrapped around Míriel and holding her tightly. Míriel leaned forward only a little and then they were kissing, indescribably sweet.

“Oh,” Astarien said faintly when they broke apart. And then she pulled away to kneel before Míriel again, placing her hands on Míriel’s knees. “Let me serve you,” she said again, with an ardent light in her eyes.

Astarien’s touch seemed to burn her through the fabric of her shift. Míriel nodded jerkily, and moved to let Astarien slide the folds of cloth higher until her legs were bare. Míriel’s breath was quick; she did not dare to imagine what would happen, until Astarien bent her head, and her mouth rested between Míriel’s thighs.

Míriel gasped at the first touch of Astarien’s tongue. They must be quiet, she thought hazily, no one must hear. And so Míriel remained silent, save for her quickened breathing, even as her eyes drifted closed, as she trembled and clutched the arm of the chair; she pressed her hand to her mouth so that she would not cry out.

When Míriel became aware of her surroundings once more, Astarien still knelt at her feet, looking up at her with shining eyes. “I will not leave you,” Astarien said again.

Still recovering her breath, Míriel stroked Astarien’s hair. She believed Astarien’s promise; and yet, with a faint stirring of foresight, Míriel thought it would turn out otherwise. She dimly heard the sound of waves, the cry of gulls on a distant shore. Astarien would go there; but not yet. For now, Astarien’s love was hers to cherish, with these treasured moments of light amidst the darkness.

Chapter End Notes

vardarianna: a Númenórean tree with fragrant flowers and bark, mentioned in “A Description of the Island of Númenor” in Unfinished Tales.

Astarien: from the Quenya word astar, meaning faithfulness or loyalty. Abârith is meant to be the equivalent in Adûnaic, from abâr, meaning strength, endurance, fidelity.

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