The Flower. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

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  He was interested in roots and beginnings, as much as anyone else; how not, for every child asks 'where did I come from?" at least once. But his father seemed to think of nothing else, certainly not Eärnur himself. He punched the tree again, setting its young leaves trembling, unaware of the pain in his hand or the fresh tears on his wet face.
   It had been as ever; he had sought out his father in his study, seeking companionship, at least, if not the comfort of conversation. There were feelings within him, of rage, of guilt and of violent hatred, feelings he could not control, nor even discuss. But his father had scarcely looked up from his great gilded scroll, illuminated with the devices of the glorious ancestors. Eärnil had beckoned, his mother had come and led him away.
   Alas, his mother paid him no heed either, leaving him to stand in the middle of her flowery chamber while she discussed him with her companions as though he were not there. The very cat on her lap had had more of her love. He punched the tree again, but an amused, indignant voice said softly "The tree did not cause your anger."
   Eärnur did not turn, but from the corner of his eye saw a gardener's apron and a pair of muddy boots "Sorry, Sylch, but please do not bother me now."
   "Alas, Sylch has the fever, and is in his bed. I am Meril of Lorn Tethryn, on Anduin's fair shore, and it is my hope to take his place when he lays down his trowel."
   Eärnur turned then "Sylch is unwell? I must visit him at once!"
   Meril held up his hands, in big gardening gloves "No! On no account! His wife alone is tending to him, his children and grandchildren are forbidden the house!"
   Eärnur drew in a breathe to argue, but was slowed to a stop by the smile on the face of the gardener. It was kind, pitying almost, but amused. Eärnur drew himself up to his full (and impressive) height. "You cannot tell me what to do! Do you know who I am?"
   Meril laughed "How not, you are the image of your father! But your mother claims that it is Eärendil himself that you most resemble. Though I must say, I hope you will not fly off to Valinor like he did!"
   Eärnur found himself blushing, was this presumptuous gardener actually flirting with him? He gaped, but Meril had turned, almost dancing, to the dolphin fountain and begun to wash his hands. He dried them on a handkerchief and took off his apron. Suddenly he appeared a Man of Gondor, his dark hair held back by plaits bound round his head, his grey eyes glowing with life (and a hint of green). Eärnur, who was yet to see his twentieth birthday, felt suddenly intimidated, as though a child had grown to manhood before his very eyes.
   "Who are you?" he asked wonderingly. Meril stepped closer, slowly, as to a wild animal, and with a small part of his mind Eärnur was aware of himself, as clenched and fearful as a beast. He breathed carefully, remembering the exercises in the Elven Book of Health and Healing that they had all had to study as children. But there were some things that even those skilled in control of their own bodies could not answer, things like his rage...
   Meril was standing before him, smiling openly into his eyes. The heat rose in Eärnur, the heat and the misery, the tears burst from his eyes and suddenly Meril's arms were about him and he cried like a child, while Meril stroked his hair and murmured softly. 
   After a time Eärnur blushed again, the heat grew greater than the need for comfort, but he was embracing a gardener! "Who are you?" he said, and moved to free himself. But Meril pressed him back against the tree and with the damp handkerchief wiped away the tears from Eärnur's face "I am the gardener" he said softly, and the heat burned away the last of the rage as the soft voice seemed to stroke the skin of Eärnur's throat. They were of a height, and as the thought came to the mind of Eärnur that he might like to kiss Meril, the smile broadened for a moment on the handsome face, then the eyes half closed and their lips met.
   
   Eärnur had thought he knew heat, but when Meril gripped his hair, digging in his fingers and pulling them close, the fiery intensity of the moment had them tearing at each other’s clothes, until they lay naked on the grass and mated like beasts, swift and hard, until Eärnur lay back, and Meril leaned over him, and wiped away more tears and said "Speak, then, I shall listen." 
   "Speak? Of what?"
   "Whatsoever you must convey to your parents, who, it is widely known, pay you no heed at all."
   Eärnur struggled indignantly, but Meril softly shushed him, and kissed him again until he lay still, and the toil-hardened hands of the gardener moved pleasingly over his bare skin. Suddenly he laughed "Ha! I feel like one of the elves at Cuiviénen, in the... before the morning of the world!"
   "How not? But what is this feeling that troubles you so much? Are you grieved by the selfishness of your parents?"
   "How dare you speak of them so! How dare you speak to me so!"
   But Meril stooped and licked his throat, and Eärnur’s body, though sated, began to stir again, and he moaned softly, desire covering his rage like snow. They made love again, more slowly, savouring each other, exploring and discovering, until at last Eärnur sat up, and his tears were dried "Oh Meril! I feel... I feel newly born! I... I don’t know how to tell you..."
   "Tell my why you hit the tree?"
   "Well, I was angry, I'm... I was always angry..."
    Meril sighed and looked away, they were silent for a time, but all the while Meril had one arm around Eärnur, and the other stroking him. Finally he spoke "You fought against the Wainriders, did you not?"
   Eärnur flinched, and felt his eyes burn. The pain in his chest, the core of his anger, stabbed anew "What of it?"
   "You were seventeen. You killed Men, not orcs, but Men, at seventeen."
   "They were invading! Of course I fought! How not?"
   "But your father told you not to go, and you went anyway."
   "But people sing songs about it! Everyone was pleased!"
   "Were they? Was this the education that the ancestors swore to the elves to follow forever?"
   Eärnur gazed at Meril with round eyes "Who are you?" 
   Meril did not answer, but stroked the hair back from Eärnur’s face and gazed long into his eyes. Scenes from battle flickered before the memory of Eärnur, a man whose head he had cut clean off, silenced in mid taunt, and the pulsing fountain of red spilling everywhere as the body crumpled like a dropped puppet. The comrade with an axe through his belly, guts writhing forth like foul serpents, while the scream had shuddered with each agonised breath "Kill me! Kill me!" over and over as Eärnur fought on, until at last (he had not turned) the sound abruptly ended, though the echo would trouble him for as long as he had wit to understand it. 
   He had done dreadful things, forcing his spear deep into the chest from above, and twisting, and pulling, and listening to screams thickened with blood, his foes drowning in agony, as he moved on to the next, thrusting into eye, or throat, or the river of blood that a good spearbearer is taught to seek amidst the muscles of the thigh. 
    
   His whole body trembled, his mouth filled with the taste of his last meal, he gulped and swallowed and gulped again, and Meril hauled him to his feet and held his hair back as he leaned over the drain and voided his stomach. Meril helped him to the fountain and Eärnur held his mouth and face under the bubbling water until even his tears were washed away.

   "But what" Meril held a hand over his mouth.
   "Hush now. You are like the little seedling, you have been uprooted and transplanted. You must be cautious, let no storm nor careless foot do harm, not before your spirit renewed grows strong enough to bend with the wind and heeds not the fists of rage."
    They were silent in tenderness, the soothing hands of Meril seemed to clear away the pain in layers, like taking blankets from a bed. Eärnur felt his breathing ease, and his sinews loosen, and closed his eyes with a shuddering sigh. Meril kissed his throat again, and slowly stroked his skin. But on the very edge of sleep, Eärnur sat upright, causing Meril to smile "But who are you? For surely you have elvish blood!"
   Meril laughed "It is not enough for you that I am what I am? That we are what we are?" his hand slid between Eärnur’s thighs, and a soft mewl escaped Eärnur. But Meril sat back and folded his arms "And if I now say 'that sounds like your father speaking', will you be angry again?"
    Eärnur put his hands over my face "What! What can I do? Whatever I say, or even think, seems to be wrong!"
   Meril sighed, and put his arms around Eärnur again, and this time, daringly, Eärnur put his hand between the thighs of Meril, who moaned and let his head loll back. Eärnur gently bit his throat, then pressed him down onto the grass and mounted him. Meril turned his head and picked up a broken flower, crushed by their heedless desire, and put it behind the ear of Eärnur, whose eyes were clouded and unfocused as the heat flared again. It was swiftly over, Eärnur wished he had had more chance to practice, but Meril's eyes were closed, and his body was hot and hard. Eärnur found desire rising almost immediately and took Meril in his mouth, tasting the flesh with the relish of great appetite. Meril arched his back and gasped and Eärnur sighed with satisfaction that was almost relief; at least he could give pleasure as well as enjoy it. 
   He put his elbows to the ground on either side of Meril’s head and looked sternly into his eyes "Now then, who are you?"