The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 23: A Nice Man's Wish

Sámaril celebrates the feast of the winter solstice with a memorable dance and receives his gift from Valandil.

Thanks to the variegated skinks of The Lizard Council for nitpicking, comments and all 'round good skinkiness.

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The rumble of conversation in the dining hall hushed when Elrond rose and raised his arms, beckoning all to stand. We followed his gesture as he turned to face the West and lifted his goblet. He chanted the verses in memory of those whose fëar had sped to the Halls of Judgment or who had flown beyond the Circles of the World.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables at home;
They have no lot in our labor of the daytime;
They sleep beyond in Elvenhome.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when all is dust,
Moving in marches upon immortal plain,
As the stars that shine in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

Then Elrond saluted the stalwarts in the hall who had endured the siege and returned to the valley. He toasted those who had waited for them. Once Elrond drank deep of his wine, he tipped the empty goblet, letting the last blood-red drops fall.

“Let the Feast of the Longest Night begin!” he cried, and a chorus of voices lifted in the hall again.

We had filled the dining hall after singing down the sun and lighting the solstice bonfire that would burn through the night. The scent of winter-fresh air had clung to us, blending with the sharp sweet fragrance of pine garlands draped around the hall. When the kitchen doors swung open, the savory aromas of the feast swept into the hall.

A piper led the procession from the kitchen, playing a merry tune on a wooden flute. For a moment, I thought of Tinfang Warble, rather irreverently, when Aulendil’s verdict of “poetic nonsense” came to mind. Behind the piper, several of the kitchen staff carried the fruit of Galfaron’s hunt – a roasted boar -- on a hammered brass platter, surrounded by baked apples and rosemary. The boar was presented to the head table where Elrond presided and where I sat between Valandil and Gildor.

Others streamed out from the kitchen, bearing dishes and bowls of winter vegetables, white beans with venison sausage, dark and light breads, and tureens of soups and sauces. Astaron sliced the roast pig with the wickedly sharp carving knife I had forged for him, laying the succulent meat on smaller platters distributed to the tables in the hall. Our goblets never emptied of robust red wine. Later, plum puddings were brought forth, flickering with blue flame. All lingered at the tables, picking over last bits of food and letting the meal settle. Then the first ripples of Lindir’s harp called us to the Hall of Fire.

Elrond, escorting Elerína, led us to the hall, festooned with garlands of pine and holly. The fire roared in the massive hearth while torches flickered in sconces among the pillars that supported the high roof. As requested by the master of the house, Lindir and his musicians first played a long lay of Beleriand followed by a hymn to Varda. Valandil leaned against me and yawned.

“When will the dancing begin?” he asked quietly. At twelve years of age, Valandil had insisted that he was old enough to join the singing and dancing after the feast instead of being herded off to his quarters under the now vigilant eyes of Gaereth, his nursemaid. Elerína had balked at first, but Elrond had come to Valandil’s defense.

“It is your decision, Lady Elerína,” Elrond had said, “But I was far younger than your son when Maglor and Maedhros took my brother and me to the solstice fires. It would do you good to practice your dance steps, Val, although you must take your leave later in the evening.” Although Elrond did not say it, he must have felt the dance of the holly and the ivy was not appropriate for a boy nearing the cusp of manhood.

“The dancing will begin soon,” I said, putting my arm around Val’s shoulders and supporting him. “But we must digest our food. You don’t want become ill while dancing, do you?”

Straightening his slumped back, Val shook his head. “No, but I don’t want to fall asleep on my feet either!”

The last notes of the hymn faded to be replaced by the summoning drumbeats of the first dance. Couples lined up on the dance floor while Valandil watched, fidgeting by my side.

“What do I do now?”

“You ask a lady to dance,” I said.

“But how?”

“You walk up to her, bow a little – like this…” I leaned slightly from my waist. “And you say, ‘May I have the pleasure of your company for this dance?’ “

“Oh.” His bright blue eyes darting, he scanned the hall. Then he grinned, leaving my side to present himself to one of his cousins, a lanky girl who stood shifting from foot to foot among the other women of Elerina’s house. He bowed dramatically, sweeping his arm behind him. His cousin, standing a head above Valandil, rolled her eyes but followed him to join the others ready for the first dance of the night.

Then it was my turn to ask a lady to dance. In recent years, Midhloth had claimed my hand, but in her absence, a few of the other maids of the household cast inviting glances my way. Then I looked over at Elerína and her ladies.

During their long stay in Imladris, the women of the Dúnedain had become comfortable enough among my folk to accept the hands of Firstborn when asked to dance, but Elerína had always declined politely and watched from the side, enjoying the celebration, but ever apart. On this night, Isildur’s queen stood tall, clad in a damasked wine-red robe, her dark hair plaited through with gold threads. Her blue eyes caught the light of the fire, and her smile was radiant.

It can’t hurt to ask, I told myself. She will just refuse me as she has before.

I gulped down the rest of the wine and set the goblet aside on a tray borne by a servant. Summoning up my courage, I went over to stand before her. Taking my own advice to Valandil, I bowed, lowering my eyes.

“I would be honored if you would join me in this dance, my lady.”

“And it would be my honor to accept.”

I could do nothing but stare at this lovely creature who extended her hand to me. Elerína then laughed. “You look like a deer who freezes before the hounds, Istyar.”

“You have taken me by surprise,” I said, flustered. She slipped off her robe, revealing a dark green gown beneath, cinched around her waist by a gold belt, her slender arms bare save for a thick golden bracelet around her left wrist. She handed the garment to one of her ladies. Likewise, I shrugged off my robes and laid them over a chair.

“Next Mettarë will find me with my beloved in Annúminas as the queen,” she said, taking my arm. “I think it is only fitting that I dance with my friend in the faerie ring before I leave.”

“Then let us make this a memorable evening!”

The first dance was one of many I shared with her that night. Although she had chosen to watch the dances from afar in the past, her steps were confident. One foot forward, the other behind and then crossing again, she followed the metrics of the dance perfectly, placing the palm of her hand flat against mine as we followed the stately gait. She transitioned into the next dance without missing a beat.

Now that she had shown her willingness to join us, Laurefin, Erestor and Elrond all offered their hands to her. I then watched her dance with the lords of Imladris, her face flushed with joyful exertion. While she danced with the other men, she glanced back over her shoulder, her sky-blue eyes asking me to come back to her, and so I did.

When the music shifted from the measured pace of Noldorin tradition to the livelier reels of the Sindar, I had expected her to join her ladies, but she remained with me. Taking her hand, I wove us through the pattern of the circle dances with the other couples.

“You surprise me again,” I said when we rested while the musicians took a break. “I have never seen you dance, but you know the reels as well as any of us.”

She took a drink of water, then set the glass aside to accept a glass of wine in its stead. “The reels are nearly identical to the country dances of Emerië, the region of Númenor where I was raised, and your courtly pavanes are much the same as those of Men.” She sipped her wine, looking up at me from beneath her fringe of dark eyelashes. “I am a good observer, too.”

The pipes and viols called us back to the dance floor where we stepped through a more complex ring dance. Her movements matched my own perfectly which puzzled me until I perceived the faintest trace of her presence wavering at the gates of my mind, anticipating my movements. Startled but pleased by her intimate gesture, I reached out with my thought to touch hers. Her eyes widened a little, but she did not recoil. The tentative caress between our minds became a firm grip. We danced as two parts to a whole, anticipating the other’s move a split second before it occurred.

The beat of the drums quickened, becoming insistent and primal. I grasped her smooth forearms with my hands, just like she clasped mine. Then we parted to return to one another again, orbiting around each other, our arms extended across one another’s waist and a hand resting above the other’s hip. Firm muscle flexed beneath her feminine softness. Warmth radiated from her hand against my hip, spreading to the pit of my belly. Our eyes remained locked, our thoughts linked but guarded.

I put my hands on her waist and lifted her. She was not heavy in my arms that lifted iron and steel, but she possessed substance and strength different than that of the sylph who so often had been my past partner. The music became wilder. I spun her around, and she threw her head back, exposing her white throat.

When I held out my arms to lift her again, her foot snagged the hem of her gown, sending her stumbling into my arms. The scent of roses and feminine musk overwhelmed my senses. She looked up at me, her face glowing and her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. For a brief moment, I struggled to keep myself from kissing her, slamming the thought into dust as quickly as it arose but not before a subtle beat of desire that was not my own pulsed in my mind before it, too, was snuffed out. She laid her hand over my pounding heart.

“Istyar,” she said. “Forgive my clumsiness. I...I believe I need to rest and have a drink of water.”

“Yes,” I said. “I think that would be wise.”

While I escorted her away from the dancers, I silently chanted the all too familiar litany: She is my friend. I will not jeopardize our friendship. The look in her eyes when I had caught her and the strands of her thought that had brushed against my mind made me wonder if she repeated similar words to herself.

Lifting a ceramic pitcher that had been placed on a sideboard, I poured cold water into goblets. Elerína gulped the water down, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She scanned the dancers, watching Erestor and Laurefin with their partners, several of a succession throughout the night.

“Your lords are popular. Those maids look like they will devour them. Not a few of the men, too.” She grinned and raised her eyebrows.

“Their presence has been missed in all manner of ways. I imagine those ladies – and a few of the men – are hoping that the lords will make up for their absence by choosing one of them to dance around the bonfire,” I said. “Did you enjoy dancing with Erestor and Glorfindel?”

“Yes,” she said, after taking another long drink of water. “But I prefer dancing with you. Oh!” She raised her hand to her mouth. “I am sorry, Sámaril. I didn’t mean to be so bold.”

“No need to apologize, my lady. I am glad that you danced with me tonight. I…” I hesitated, trying to keep my words measured while my thoughts churned wildly. “I will miss you greatly when you leave, but I’m also happy for you, that your beloved will soon return. He is a very lucky man.”

She graced me with a heart-stopping smile. “Thank you, Sámaril. Please forgive me, but I am going to be bold again. There is a saying among my people: No matter how happily a woman may be married, it always pleases her to discover that there is a nice man who wishes that she were not.”

My face burned. “Is it that obvious?”

“Not always,” she said. “But your elvish mask slips sometimes.”

“I beg your forgiveness, my lady. I don’t mean to cause you embarrassment and certainly no dishonor.”

“Embarrassment? No, Sámaril, didn’t you hear me? I am flattered. You are my friend and a man of honor. I know that you respect me. That doesn’t mean my blood is made of ice. Do not worry so.” She looked back at the dancers, now spinning around in three circles. “But that worries me.”

I followed her eyes to see Valandil dancing, no longer with his cousin, but with one of the lithe Silvan women. As they danced, the elf-woman’s hips brushed against the mortal boy. Val’s face was flushed, and his eyes had a wild look about them.

“Would you...?” she implored.

“Do you want me to retrieve him?”

“Yes.”

When I approached the ring of dancers, I caught Valandil’s eye, summoning him with a flick of my hand. He said something to the Silvan woman, who looked a bit put out. I scrutinized him as he walked toward me. Although still a gangling boy, he grew taller by the month, with the subtle signs of approaching manhood shadowing his face and body. The children of the Númenóreans matured a little later than their counterparts of the Middle Men, but clearly Valandil was on the path to maturity. I noted that it was time to have another talk with him about the ways of men and women.

I led him back to his mother, a timely return because the wreaths of holly and ivy were being distributed to the dancers while wooden pipes trilled the first notes of the feral song that would lead to lusty abandon. Lady Vórwen, also flushed from dancing, drifted over with the other Dúnedain women.

“Goodnight, Valandil,” I said, the boy squirming a little in my rough hug, but then he returned a strong embrace.

“I have your Yule present ready for you, Istyar. Will you have breakfast with me tomorrow?”

“Of course. Just as I always have.” I then bade goodnight to Elerína and her ladies.

“Aren’t you joining the others?” Elerína asked, lingering while the others walked away toward the wide stairs that led to the upper levels of the house.

“No,” I said, raising her hand to my lips. “I have already danced with the loveliest woman here. I have no need of another.”

Elerína blushed again. “You are bold, too, Istyar. I will see you in the morning.”

In spite of my words, I did have a need and a strong one. I retreated in haste to my quarters where I shed my clothes, tossing them to the floor, and rummaged through a dresser drawer to find the red square of silk. I flung myself on my bed where I buried my face in my pillow, imagining my lips pressed against a white throat while I stroked myself to shuddering but empty climax.

The next morning, I knocked on the door of Elerina’s quarters and was ushered in by Lady Vorwen. The winter sun streamed through the windows; a fire snapped cheerfully in the hearth. Elerína, wrapped in an indigo dressing gown, sat in a cushioned chair by the fire, her dark hair loose around her shoulders.

“Good morning, Istyar,” she said. “You rested well last night?”

“I did.” At least I had after I relieved the tension built up over the past evening.

Valandil, sleepy-eyed and still in his dressing gown, ambled into the parlor from the hall that led to the bedchambers.

“Are you ready for your gift, Val?” I asked. Val’s drowsiness vanished, replaced by a bright smile.

“Yes!”

Lady Vórwen, my co-conspirator who had hidden the rod and reel in her chamber earlier, then left the parlor. When she returned, I rose and met her, taking the fishing pole and small box from her hands.

“Happy Yule, Val.” I held the rod and reel out to him.

“A fishing pole!” he exclaimed, taking it from my hands. He examined every inch of it, from its tip to the reel with coiled line, spun from spider-silk by Lairiel. He then opened the small wooden box containing the flies I had tied.

“Not just any fishing pole. This is for fly-casting. I made one for myself, too. We can fish in the river with these, just like you wished.”

“Oh, thank you!” He handed the pole to his mother and set the box down before embracing me. “Now I have your gift.”

He went over to the cedar chest in the corner of the parlor and propped open its lid. He lifted a parcel wrapped in green cloth with a holly sprig attached to it.

“Happy Yule!”

I took the gift from him and unwrapped it. I held a simple box of cherry wood in my hands. I turned it over, examining its interlinked joints, but could find no lid.

“It is a puzzle box, Istyar. Master Calaquar helped me make it.”

“Ah! So I must figure out the puzzle.” I tried to shift segments of the box but they did not move.

“There is a code inside,” said Valandil. “You must reach into the wood to find it. That is the puzzle. It is easy though. I think you will figure it out fast, Istyar. You can try if you want.”

I took that to mean that Valandil wanted me to try now so I closed my eyes and let my mind walk in the fibrous forest within the wood, its red-brown tree-shapes without leaves contorting around me. Then I saw a letter embedded in one of the twisted columns. I moved along and found another. Time lost meaning while I wandered, searching for more letters. Someone called to me.

“Sámaril?” Elerina’s voice pulled me back into the parlor. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I replied, a little dizzy from my quick emergence from the deep thought that let me peer into the world of the very small.

“You have been in that trance for a while now. I was worried…”

“Istyar Sámaril is all right, Mother,” said Val. “He was just walking on the paths of the deep arts. That is what happens when you do that. Did you figure it out, Istyar?”

I met my young friend’s eager eyes, identical to his mother’s. “I did.” I closed my eyes again, sending the puzzle’s solution –- a simple heartfelt sentiment -- into the wood.

Several joints shifted and clicked. The lid of the box popped open. Inside was a polished green beryl.

“For good luck,” said Val.

“Thank you, Val,” I said. Wrapping my arm around his shoulders, I squeezed him against me and returned the words he had hidden in the wood: “I love you, too.”

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Chapter End Notes

Poem adapted from Laurence Binyon’s For the Fallen.

Elerína's sentiment concerning happily married women and nice men is a quote by H.L. Mencken