The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 7: The Holly and the Ivy

Sámaril celebrates the winter solstice with Queen Isilmë, and things get a bit heated with Midhloth.

Many thanks to Moreth, oshun and Rhapsody for betafication and to Jael for her compliments.

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Thorno ran his fingers through my still damp hair. Lingering reflections on the primal nature of my people and my debate with Mélamírë evaporated, whisked away by pleasant sensation. He brushed my hair vigorously, dividing it into strands, which he wove into a thick plait entwined with silver cord that I had given to him after we returned from the baths. He hummed while he worked. If only I could have purred like a cat. All too quickly, he lifted the plait and fastened the loose ends with a clasp.

“There! Your rope of bronze is ready to snare the unwary.” Released, the braid thudded against my spine. “Now go get dressed or we’ll be late for the ceremony. The sun waits for no one.”

“Thank you,” I said, smoothing back my hair with both hands. I took my brush from him. “I’ll meet you in the entry hall.”

I left Thorno in his rooms and returned to my quarters where I put aside my chamber robe and donned my clothing: fitted trousers and a thin shirt with short sleeves – suitable for lively dancing – with formal robe over all. I ran my hand over the fine weave of the dark wine-red wool fabric and traced the gold and silver embroidery at the collar and the sleeves. Lairiel’s seamstresses had done a fine job with this garment.

Rummaging around in the chest that held the results of my goldsmithing, I selected hammered arm cuffs and a garnet-jeweled torque. Satisfied that I would not offend any delicate aesthetic sensibilities, I shut the door of my quarters and made my way through the corridors to the balcony above the entry hall.

As I descended the stairs, a draft of cold air struck my face. The great doors of the house stood wide open; many of the residents exited the hall, but others milled about near the foot of the stairs. I spotted Thorno, draped in midnight blue and silver with his black hair sweeping over his shoulders. Together we walked out into the fading light of the year’s shortest day and fell into a stately procession with the other Firstborn of Imladris who made their way to a meadow about a kilometer removed from the house.

“It’s good to be honoring the solstice again. It has been too long,” said Thorno as we walked side by side on the path, the snow packed where Noldorin feet had trod. The Silvans danced over the snow banks, their movement mimicking the firecrest finches that darted through the pines. “What do you suppose Côldring and the others are doing right now?”

“Huddling around a fire, I expect. I doubt that they will sing to the sun,” I said. “There’s little cause to celebrate the return of the light, given what spring will bring to them.”

“Such grim sentiment! Have some hope, Sámaril. The sun will rise and set no matter what the outcome of war. We humans are but puny things compared to the vastness of Eä. Look, they’re almost ready to light the fire. Will you come out later tonight?”

“Perhaps. I’ll see if I am in the mood for more revelry after the dances indoors.”

“Well, I know I’ll be in the mood.” He eyed the two Laegrim maids, who had sat by him in the baths, now gliding over the deep snow ahead of us.

We gathered in the center of the snow-blanketed meadow, surrounded by groves of beech, oaks and river birch. There logs and kindling had been stacked in a high pile. Two Sindarin men, standing on either side of the wood, held roaring torches. One by one, women of the household - all singing a hymn to Yavanna - brought forward the nine woods to place on the pile. Once the last bundle of twigs was set upon the tor of wood, we faced the southwest toward the lowering sun.

When the sun’s fiery disk touched the edge of the cliffs, Lindir struck his small silver harp. As one, the Firstborn of Imladris lifted our voices, seamlessly blending natural harmonies and interweaving melody to create a tapestry of song as the sun sank toward the cliffs already shadowed with twilight.

We sang down the sun with an ancient melody – one that humbled me when I thought of my ancestors who first sang it. The song did not originate in Valinor but from the most ancient times of my people’s history – when the fathers and mothers of Elves wore skins, wielded flint tools and lived in terror of the darkness that shrouded the world. They craved the sunlight, so often obscured by the black fumes from Utumno that reached across the world. When the sun died in the winter, they sang and lit bonfires to drive back the night and their fears.

The sun fell behind the black cliffs as our song faded. The scattered clouds in the dome of the sky turned flame-red, amber and violet – a requiem to the dying light. Stars glinted in the deep blue sky to the east, first a few, and then thousands blazed in the firmament. Then we sang a hymn to Elbereth. The torchbearers lit the wood, and the fire caught, its tongues flickering through the lattice of kindling and logs.

Although a few lingered to watch the growing bonfire, most returned to the house, myself included, for the feast in the hall. As the night drew on, many would return to the fire. All were in good spirits, even the Noldor, but the Silvans of the household were especially merry, singing and dancing along the path. Two Silvan maids skipped by me to join their companions ahead on the trail. I recognized them as assistants to the fuller. One glanced back at me then whispered to her friend – loud enough for me to catch fragments of her words: “Midhloth… lachenn vigor…a mighty spear.” Then they giggled, tripping along the path. Midhloth had apparently gossiped about my physical attributes.

Blood rushed to my face. I hoped that the dim light would obscure my embarrassment. As a widower among my people, I was expected to be continent of mind and body as were all Noldor who had lost wives and husbands. It was a well-known secret that many who espoused this philosophy of continence - doctrine handed down to us from the Blessed Lands - did not adhere to it in practice. Although the beloved image of my wife remained embedded in my heart, my body’s and perhaps my feä’s needs had not been interred peacefully upon her death. My discipline slipped all too often, and I succumbed to my drives, mostly by my own hand but on occasion with a partner. Guilt pursued me when I sought release with another, yet my male vanity was flattered by the women’s fragment of a compliment: a mighty spear.

I willed my discomfiture away. The sounds of merriment flowed from the open doors of the house. When I approached the entry to the dining hall, a small figure barreled toward me. I lifted Valandil in my arms.

“You are quite the little lord this evening,” I said as I admired his damasked forest green tunic, black leggings and soft leather slippers.

“My shirt is itchy,” he said, making a show of scratching his neck with vigor. He buried his face in my neck. “You smell like outdoors. Grandmama says you will sit with us at the high table.”

His confidence of place amused me. As the Master of the Forge, my accustomed seat was at the high table, but my infrequent attendance likely made my presence this evening seem unusual to my young friend.

“I would be honored, Prince Valandil.”

“Istyar, it is a pleasure to see you here this evening,” Isilmë said. The queens of the Dunédain stood before me; their flock of ladies-in-waiting and their children made their way into the dining hall. “I take it that my grandson has already told you that you will be seated with us?” Isilmë’s eyes twinkled, a sign that she shared my affectionate amusement with the little boy’s forthright assumptions.

“Valandil, come here – you must not trouble Istyar Sámaril. You are a big boy. You can walk to the table.” Elerína reached for her son, but he clung to me.

“I’ll carry him for now. I do not mind.”

“Very well,” she said, her face a cool mask. While holding Valandil, I followed the queens and wondered if this was how a tercel felt in the wake of a falcon’s regal flight.

A plate filled to its rim with winter delicacies – loin of venison, grouse, smoked trout, carrots, apples and raisins - appeared before me, and my goblet never seemed to empty of wine. I took my ease, as I had not for some years. Queen Isilmë made lively conversation with all around her. Val chattered, absorbing attention from his mother and me. After my third or fourth goblet of wine, the net of my imagination captured a wistful fantasy: here I sat at the high table with my family – Nierellë, my mother and my dark-haired son. This vision passed quickly – a wraith of wishful thinking that my rational mind blew away like a puff of candle smoke. I chastised myself for such a self-indulgent thought that would only bring pain on a night when I should be merry.

The silver bell pealed high above in the house’s tower, calling us to the Hall of Fire. We rose to follow Gildor, but Elerína led Valandil to the stairs. Gaereth appeared at Elerína’s side.

“I want to stay and dance! I am not tired.” Valandil protested and then yawned, giving himself away. I knelt before him.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Val. I have something for you, which I’ll give to you then. But for now, you must sleep.”

He grumbled but threw his arms around my neck. I kissed his cheek and released him to his mother and his nursemaid. Elerína regarded me coolly - appearing displeased - but she said nothing and taking her son by his hand, led him up the stairs. I could only wonder what I had done to annoy her.

The fire’s roar in the massive hearth greeted all who entered the Hall of Fire. A versatile space, it hosted not only contemplative affairs of poetry and lofty song, but also festivals. Golden and silver lights twinkled throughout the large chamber, and the scent of pine filled the air. Chairs, benches and tables had been pushed to the periphery of the hall, leaving a wide-open expanse in its center. Even before the first beat of drum and trill of flute, the men and women of the House of Elrond congregated in the open space, lining up opposite one another, ready for the dance to begin. With little preamble, Lindir’s musicians launched into the first song, the percussion taking measure of the stately dance, its mathematical precision reflecting Noldorin composition.

Searching the hall, I found Queen Isilmë standing among the cluster of her ladies, who watched this next phase of the elvish winter revels. Emboldened by our mid-day meals together – in addition to all the wine I had consumed at the feast – I bowed deeply before her.

“If it pleases the High Queen of the Dúnedain, I would be honored if she would accept a dance with me.”

She laughed out loud at my wine-drenched theatrics, but she extended her hand to mine and curtsied.

“This would indeed please the Queen.”

I guided her toward the dance floor. She leaned toward me before we joined the others.

“Istyar, you are quite the merry elf this evening. I would say that you are into your cups. I thought your people were immune to strong drink.”

“Hardly immune. We may be able to imbibe more than your people before feeling ill effects, but we Noldor are not as staid as you might have been led to believe. We have this word, you see – yulmë.”

“I am not familiar with that term.”

“I expect it is not in your tomes of high lore. It means ‘drinking…carousal.’ As this night progresses, you will see much yulmë.”

And so I danced with the High Queen in the Hall of Fire. Even if I had my somber moods when I embraced solitude, festivals in the House of Elrond drew me out because I always loved to dance and Queen Isilmë made an excellent partner. Exceedingly graceful for such a statuesque woman, she glided through the precise movements, demonstrating familiarity with complex patterns and a clever ability to pick up those steps that were foreign to her. She held her own among the Firstborn.

From my conversations with the High Queen over the past two months, I had come to know her keen intelligence and dry wit, but she had revealed only hints of the wisdom and sorrow that I knew must dwell deep in her heart. When I danced with her that night, I admired her beauty that gleamed through the marks of age like crystalline mica shines from the eternal granite of the mountains. Her storm-grey eyes reflected the lights of the hall, the spark of a young woman’s eyes. Handsome now, she must have been a beauty in the flower of her youth. I could see why Elendil the King had fallen in love with this remarkable woman.

I did not relinquish her for dance after dance. She laughed as merrily as a maid. However, the tempo picked up, the beat of the drums becoming insistent as the style segued to more robust Sindarin reels. The queen stopped dancing and held out her hand to me, her signal to depart.

“Thank you for your company, Istyar, but a stronger partner would suit you better for these lively steps.” Her cheeks glowed rose, and breathiness roughened her alto voice.

“You dance like a young woman, my lady queen. I enjoyed that immensely.”

“How would you know? You have danced with young mortal women?”

“Yes, many years ago.”

The memory of Zirânphel – the daughter of the innkeeper in Tharbad – coalesced in my thought. I could see her amber eyes and tawny hair as I danced with her in her father’s common room: Zirânphel to whom I gave a ring, to whom I professed brotherly affection but had suppressed another kind of love which I had been unable to bring myself to acknowledge. I had given her a ring meant to boost her confidence but that led her to the life of a courtesan. The rings – the terrible consequences of my craft and the pain they had inflicted on so many, not least of all those who wore them – invaded my thought. Worse yet, I had cast the first Ring of Power on the night of the winter solstice. The image of Istyar Aulendil – no, Sauron – standing there with me in the dim forge that night – began to congeal in my mind, and my muscles tensed.

“Please, Istyar,” Isilmë placed her hand on my arm. “Let us not look back in regret tonight.”

I met eyes full of concern, and I fell into them, allowing her to soothe me. A wordless embrace wrapped my mind - the embrace of a mother who had comforted warrior-kings. My body relaxed as troublesome memories retreated to their dark chambers.

“Forgive me, my lady queen. I do have my regrets – many, in fact - but you’re right. Tonight is not the time to dwell on them.”

“Perhaps you will tell me about her some day,” she said. “If you compare my dancing to hers, then you flatter me, but I am much older than I look – quite old for a mortal. I weary so I must take my leave for the evening.”

I escorted her back to her ladies, still clustered together, watching the elven dancers. It occurred to me that perhaps I should escort one of them to the dance or at least ask Isilmë if I could do so. The accepted protocol escaped my recollection. Before I could reach a decision, a delicate hand clasped mine.

I looked down to see Midhloth’s green-leaves eyes, which reflected her bright smile. She trilled with the birdsong laughter of her kind and pulled me away from the mortal women. Instead of guiding me to the dancers as I expected, she led me to a side table where she lifted a silver ewer and poured spice-infused brandy into two goblets.

“You lechenn take your drink strong,” she said, wincing as she sipped the cordial. “But it is delicious, I will say that.”

“Yes, Master Gwindir’s still has seen much use these past several months.”

I gulped the drink down in a few swallows. I filled my goblet again, also emptying it in short order. And then another. Every winter on the night of the solstice, whether I was alone or with others, I drank heavily. On this one night, I wanted to obliterate the memory of the rings.

The decorum expected of me - so often teetering at a precipice – threatened to tumble down. I had indulged myself with food and now drink and maybe later – if I could ward guilt away – with a woman. I shrugged off my robe, now damp with sweat and threw it on top of similarly discarded clothing piled on a chair.

Midhloth set her empty goblet on the table and took my hand. “Look! The dance of the holly and the ivy begins! Shall we?”

Like the sun-song, this ancient circle dance had its roots embedded in the Firstborn’s earliest history. The Silvans had preserved it in its most primeval form, and indeed the Noldorin and Sindarin musicians stepped aside as Green-elves with tabors and wooden pipes took their place. I had danced this many times at winter festivals past before I married and later with my wife, but most often had avoided it here in the House of Elrond. The dance cast a spell of abandon, for it was a fertility rite, hearkening to a time when the Firstborn’s immortality meant little – a time when so many of us had fallen prey to the monsters of the darkness, and there was great need to populate our tribes.

I knew what this dance could lead to – what it was meant to lead to – but I set all considerations of continence aside. The wine, brandy and the festivities infected me and eroded the circumspection of a widower. I followed her to the center of the hall where the men and women milled around, taking greenery from baskets carried by maids. I picked out a wreath of ivy, setting it over Midhloth’s silver hair and then placed a crown of holly upon my head, its sharp tines pricking my skin.

The women – ivy crowns upon their fair heads - formed the inner circle while the men – holly upon their brows - positioned themselves on the outside, facing their partners. The beats of the tabors and ripples of the pipes set our feet in motion.

The women twined along their circle, hand-over-hand, singing the verses that praised the ivy as the hardiest growth of winter. The men sang next, boasting that the holly king ruled the winter woods, and punctuated our orbit around the women with leaps and turns in display of our vigor.

The beat quickened and the circles spun faster. The scent of pine, wood smoke and human sweat filled the air. Midhloth stood before me again, panting with her cheeks flushed. The tabors pounded with my heartbeat, the pipes now shrill, and the spirit of the dance bewitched me. Midhloth’s hips – sensuous and insistent – caressed my body as she slid past me. Flush with brandy and stirred to passion, I did not hesitate when I placed my hands on her narrow waist and lifted her, light as a beech leaf, her hands on my shoulders. Her scent –woodland moss and feral musk – was more intoxicating than the brandy.

Yet for all the dance’s capacity to arouse, a fraction of my mind remained detached and not wholly focused on the petite woman who made it clear she would give me all this night. I scanned the hall’s perimeter. As my gaze swept past the hearth, I saw Elerína. She must have returned to the Hall of Fire after settling Val into bed. Several other mortal women clustered around her, a knot of protection as they – uneasy outsiders - witnessed our increasingly reckless carousal, a celebration that excluded these women. Only meters separated them from the elven dancers, but it may as well have been a chasm of immeasurable distance.

That distance was bridged when Elerína’s blue eyes, shining with the fire’s light, met mine. She held my gaze for seconds or for an eternity, I knew not which. Her expression opaque, she broke our contact and discarded me. I tried to will her to look at me again, but she did not, continuing to watch the others, her lips pressed together, but the shadows of yearning softened her expression of disapproval.

Midhloth tugged at my arm, interrupting my brandy-laden mooning over a woman beyond realistic contemplation.

“Come!” said Midhloth. “We go to the fire!”

The musicians led heated Laegrim, Sindar and Noldor out of the hall, our feet compelled to follow pipe and drum. Before I passed through the doors, I turned to search for Elerína, but she was gone.

We danced along the footpath to the meadow where the bonfire leapt high, sending gold sparks to the cold stars in the dome of the heavens. We formed a circle again, men and women alternating, arms twined around waists. I did not feel the winter chill as we sang and swirled around the fire, faster and faster, the tabor pounding and the pipes frantic. The circle broke, and couples danced together. Then the circle formed again, tightening around the bonfire as couples abandoned it and ran hand-in-hand into the night to bring the dance to its erotic conclusion.

I lifted Midhloth again and again, reveling in my strength and her daintiness. But on one lift, my foot slipped on the packed snow and I fell. She landed on top of me, laughing with abandon. Then she kissed me - her lips soft and seeking - the tip of her tongue sliding across my lower lip. I hesitated when widower’s guilt gnawed at me, but brandy and the dance had eroded moral barriers and my hröa’s needs were strong. With sensual deliberation and then with hungry abandon, I returned her kiss.

She broke off, the light in her eyes that of a wild thing, and we rose as one, seeking the shadows, which we found in a pine grove well beyond the light of the fire. Under the winter stars, we flung ourselves on to the soft snow, our blood fired and warding off chill. Unfastening her bodice, I sought her breasts. My teeth grazed acorn-hard nipples before my lips found her eager mouth again. She reached into my trousers, stroking me and sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I tilted my hips in rhythmic response, meeting her caresses.

She ran her tongue along the edge of my ear as her hand rolled along the length of my iron. She whispered, her breath burning me, “See, lachenn, I can give you what those mortal kine cannot.”

Heat became chill, a phase change of the most abrupt kind when the harsh brine of her judgment quenched my passion. Jagged anger crystallized in response to her unkind words. I pushed her away and sat up, now cold and wet from the snow.

“You have no idea what I need, wood-elf.”

I stood, fastened my trousers, and stalked into the night, the bonfire’s glow lighting the path back to the house. Midhloth’s primitive words – curses from her dark forest home – followed me even if she did not.

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Chapter End Notes

Lairiel - Noldo, master weaver of Imladris.

Isilmë - Elendil's wife; queen of Arnor.

Elerína - Isildur's wife; exiled co-queen of Gondor.

Gaereth - Dúnadaneth, Valandil's nursemaid

Zirânphel - innkeeper's daughter of Tharbad from The Apprentice.

Midhloth - Silvan, housemaid in the House of Elrond.

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In the pandemoniverse, the cosmogony proposed by Tolkien in his later writings on the sun and the moon (1) applies. Here JRRT proposes that the earth is coeval with the sun and the moon, and that the latter two heavenly bodies are formed from star-stuff, not the Fruits of the Trees which Tolkien describes as "Mannish myth."

Knowing that the awakening of the Children of Ilúvatar is imminent, Morgoth covers the skies of much of Middle-earth with the "clouds of unseeing." Day is only a dim twilight. The Powers of the West try to disrupt the cloud cover. Manwë sends winds to blow back the clouds. It is during one of these blustery attempts when the western sky is cleared that the Elves awaken in Cuiviénen. They see the stars fading away toward the west, and ever after, associate the west with light and beauty. In this revised version, Tolkien has Men awakening during the Great March of the Elves, thus pushing back the history of mortal Men further than that published in The Silmarillion. This earlier timing of Men's awakening may have allowed Tolkien to posit that orcs were derived from Men rather than Elves (see also Myths Transformed.)

(1)See "Myths Transformed" in the History of Middle-earth vol. X, Morgoth's Ring, HarperCollins, London, 2002, 370-390.