Tower of Water. by hennethgalad

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mainly inspired by the word "voluptuary" in the prompt. It sounds like the name of a type of building, like pharmacy, aviary, voluptuary...

Read .

   

   

Glorfindel read the letter again, his cheeks red with embarrassment and anger. It had to be a jest, and yet the Vanyar Guard stood haughtily before him, with the patience of stone, awaiting a response.
   "Is this a jest?" he finally asked the Guard.
   "I cannot say, I do not open my lord’s messages, I merely bear them hither and thither."
   "Do you tell me that Ingwë himself handed this message to you?"
   The Guard smiled for the first time "Ingwë himself wrote this message for you and handed it to me. There is no doubt."
   Glorfindel felt the heat burn through his skin, he longed to flee, but could not shame himself in front of such an imposing guard. The Guard smiled kindly "Have no fear, he does not eat Elves, even those who have refused his service and joined the humble house of Turgon instead."
   Glorfindel gaped at the Guard "You know about me?"
   The Guard laughed "I won a fine ring in a wager when you ran the leaguer of Tirion! Everyone knows you, Glorfindel the well-named!"
   Glorfindel grimaced "Is the king very angry with me?"
   The Guard shook his head "No, I have heard only praise of you from the king, have no fear. But what is your answer? For I must await it here."

    When the Guard had ridden away singing, Glorfindel turned once more to the shocking letter. Of course he did not recognise the writing, never having seen aught written by the hand of the king himself, and it had taken the confirmation of the witness to force him to believe what he had read.

   'Glorfindel, come to Tirion Nenda, I want you to suck my cock. I want you to stick your cock deep into my arse, and fuck me until I forget my own name, which is, alas, Ingwë.'

 

   Tirion Nenda was one of the loveliest buildings Glorfindel had ever seen. Half-blinded with desire, and with teeth clenched yet at the thought that it was all a jest, he found it difficult to understand what he was seeing.
  For the Tower of Water was just that, built on an outcrop of rock amidst a sweeping curve of waterfalls at the western feet of the Pelori, a tower of water...
   Laurelin was waning, but the golden light glowed in the water, the whole swirling valley filled with spray and foam, gleaming and sparkling. Glorfindel laughed, feeling his cares slide from his shoulders like a dropped burden. The tower! The tower was joined to the mountainside by a high narrow bridge, but the bridge was impassable, for it bore the water churning across to the tower where it spilled into the circular top of the three-storey building. Two layers of arches both held up and were the building, for the wall within the circle of arches was the endlessly flowing sheet of falling water. Beneath the floor of stone where the tree-like arches rested, an eruption of foaming water cascaded down all around the rock on which Tirion Nenda was founded. 
   But there was no door, nor any bridge for Elven foot, and Glorfindel stood perplexed. 

   From behind one of the many falls that poured and slid across the face of the mountain, Ingwë stepped forth. "Glorfindel! Mae govannen!" The king beckoned and Glorfindel saw the worn stones that any Elf could leap across, with no need even for a rope. Soon he was beside Ingwë, and dissolving into the intense blue gaze.
   "My lord, your message... I..."
   "I will not apologise, for I am not sorry! And though I could have composed an elegant verse for you, it is a mere skill, I am not gifted in composition...
   But I think we understand each other, you and I. To us, the city is a strange and marvellous thing, so many people, so much... so much of everything! But in us, the Wild Wood is near, near to our hearts and near to our spirits. Indeed, near to our..." he put out a golden hand and laid it on the throat of Glorfindel "Near to our skin"
  Glorfindel felt his spirit racing with the falling water, drowning in the beauty of Ingwë, the pale golden hair falling around the fair face seemed to echo the gleaming water, and all thought fled from the mind of the young Elf. But Ingwë grinned suddenly "Come, then, and see the tower!"
   The path was concealed by the falling waters, and there beneath the bridge a narrow stair rose up the side of the rock, streaming with water. Tiny mosses clung in corners, but naught could take root beneath the wild waters of Tirion Nenda.

  Ingwë paused beneath the stone arches "I helped to carve this!" he laughed proudly, "Well, that is to say, I did rough work, while experts like Nerdanel the Wise did the details. But still, it makes me happy to stand beneath these stones and know that I was a part of their shaping!"
   "It is a wondrous tower! Why have I not heard of it?"
   "It is a Vanyar tower. We... Let us go in, and you shall hear all you wish of the tower, and more..."
   Glorfindel raised his brows "You can go through the water, inside the tower? I had thought it a sculpture!"
   "It is a sculpture! It is a work of great beauty! But it is a tower, not a monument."
   And he was gone, stepping through the wall of water as though it were not there. Glorfindel laughed and stepped after him; the water was a gentle blow, or a sip of strong wind, and instantly over. He was standing in an almost circular Hall of Fire, Ingwë stood smiling with his back to the fire, and Glorfindel stood before him, marvelling.
    
   "I cannot say which is the lovelier, you, or your tower."
   Ingwë grinned "Come and see the rest! This is one of my favourite places in all Valinor, apart from the House of Olórin."
   Glorfindel felt suddenly at ease, after all, he himself was a friend to Olórin, the wise Maia, and Ingwë, clever Ingwë, was just an Elf, just like him...
   Behind the fireplace was a small oven, and shelves with jars and pots, but Ingwë ignored it and climbed the stairs.
   The middle floor was furnished in the finest that Valmar could make, and since the Vanyar made little, but that little perfectly, the room was exquisite. There were low couches in fine soft cloth, a low table carved and polished, sliced from the trunk of a vast and ancient tree, whose countless rings spoke of the fall and rise of mountains in the deeps of time. The table was spread with fruits and savouries, pastries and pies, cakes and fancies. 
   There were tall plants in pots around the pillars, though none climbed them; for though the water fell in a smooth golden sheet (how well it matched the hair of Ingwë!) there were also times of storm, when the water became a deluge, scouring clean all in its path. 
   Gold and silver lanterns hung from the roof, the warmth of the Fire below softened the slow chill of the falling water, the freshness of the air by the sparkling water and the scent of the lavish feast filled Glorfindel with delight. The room was one of the nicest he had ever seen, and he said so.

   Ingwë clapped his hands together once, then threw himself into the air and landed lounging on a couch "How hungry are you?" he asked, but his voice and his eyes were speaking of appetites other than food. Glorfindel thought of the note that Ingwë had written, and felt his cheeks burn.
   "I... It was a long ride, I am somewhat hungry..."
   Ingwë gestured to another couch "Sit. I too rode far to be here... Let us take wine, and eat a little, but only a little! Soon I shall lead you on" he gestured to the stairs, and Glorfindel sat slowly down, and reached for a mushroom pastry. He looked up at Ingwë in astonishment "But this is even better than my sister's recipe, and she is the finest cook I know of!"
   Ingwë laughed "She is the finest cook I know of also! But that is the secret of this tower. Is is a place for the Vanyar to meet, as we are meeting. But when we make something especially fine, as that pastry, we bring it here, for whoever should come. Each lantern is the finest that that smith ever made, this cloth" he stroked the shimmering green fabric beside him "is the finest woven by that weaver, and the wine!"
   Glorfindel picked up the goblet that Ingwë poured him, it melted in his mouth, a wild hint of grapes tangled through the canopy in the Forests of Oromë. 
  "Oh! It is delicious! But what is up the stairs? I am already bewildered by the... the voluptuous surroundings..."
   Ingwë laughed "Voluptuous! You really have been living in Tirion, haven’t you!"
   "Please, what is up there? Treasure? Gems? Statues? I cannot imagine anything lovelier than this room."
   For the first time, Ingwë looked less than happy. Glorfindel felt as though the Trees were dimmed "What is it? Have I offended you? I beg your indulgence for my youth and ignorance!"
   
   But Ingwë rose to his feet and stepped out of his shoes. He smiled at Glorfindel, and what was left of the mind of Glorfindel noted that Ingwë suddenly looked almost shy. But Ingwë slid down his trousers, pulled his tunic over his head then stood naked before Glorfindel and nodded to him, as to say 'now you.'
   Glorfindel tore off his clothes, realising in a mortifying moment of clarity that it must be a bed on the top floor, and that he had been speaking like a fool.
   Ingwë gave him another shy smile, but the blue eyes were darkening with desire. He led the way up the curving stairs, Glorfindel ran his fingers through the wall of falling water and marvelled at the ingenuity of the Vanyar, the tower was a wondrous thing, he gathered the words to ask Ingwë again why he had never heard of it, but the words fell from his mouth like the waters of Tirion Nenda.

   The roof was open to the sky. Above their heads the pillars upheld the ring of stone through which the waters roiled and churned, then spilled over, all around the room, on the start of their long fall. There were curved stone benches by the pillars, but nothing else, not even a lantern, save the great round bed in the centre. But it was no padded Noldor bed, thick with cloth and curtain, pillow and quilt. The bed in the tower of water was of moss, deep green, soft and thick. Ingwë jumped up on to the bed, raised his arms in the air and looked around with a joyful smile "Isn’t it glorious?"
   Glorfindel looked around at the smooth walls of water, the finely carved pillars, their twigs delicate as snowflakes, and up at the shimmering sky, and laughed "I was right! Treasure! Gems!" he gestured at the falling water, and at droplets hanging from the stone branches. But then he stepped forward to the edge of the bed and looked up at Ingwë "And a statue..."
  Ingwë lowered his arms to his sides and smiled down at Glorfindel with hooded eyelids. Glorfindel felt that he would burst, but the strangeness of Tirion Nenda held him still. The hiss and roar of falling water between the two circles of carven trees, the faint breathy whisper of the wind across the open goblet of a room, and the ancient moss bed drew him back to the deep past, to Cuiviénen and the lost land beneath the stars of Varda. Laurelin had faded, the golden light glowed faintly through the curtain of water, the green scent of moss filled the air, and sparkling droplets glittered on the golden skin of Ingwë. Glorfindel took a long slow breath and ordered himself to pay full attention to the moment, for he knew that come what may, this would be a memory to treasure forever.

   Ingwë smiled more broadly, then seemed to sag slightly. Glorfindel put a foot on the edge of the moss bed "What is it?"
   "I envy you... It is your first visit to Tirion Nenda... I remember feeling the same wonder that I see in your eyes now, and how long ago that was..."
   "Are you unhappy then?"
   Ingwë laughed, and Glorfindel thought of other laughter he had heard, Tirion was full of laughter... But in Tirion, with Elves living so close together, and divided into factions, the laughter was often mocking or scornful. But Ingwë laughed with joy, with delight, with amusement, and with Glorfindel. 
   "No, I am not unhappy, indeed, at this moment I am less unhappy than I have been in a long time! If I might, I will offer a little advice..."
   Glorfindel gestured to say 'go on'. Ingwë smiled "Though I suspect that I am advising one who least needs instruction. Heed the moment! I saw you, listening, scenting the air, feeling the breath of Manwë, and the Light... You know already to live fully, to open yourself to the moment that memory may fill you, and enrich your spirit!" He laughed again "Perhaps I say only 'pay attention!', but if that is all you ever learn from me, it will be enough!"

   And Glorfindel felt his understanding unfold, his perception grew until he felt himself larger than the tower, higher than the mountains, looking down into the little cup of Tirion Nenda, with the water pouring endlessly over the rim, down through the gap between the two rings of stone trees and surging over the rocky outcrop at its feet. And then, for an instant of shocking awareness, he perceived the intent of those who had built the tower. For Tirion Nenda was a model of Arda, surrounded by Belegaer, and here on the bed of moss the old Elves sought to recapture their lost youth, to return, if only in thought, to Cuiviénen the lost.

   Ingwë stood patiently, Glorfindel realised that Ingwë could see his thoughts as clearly as though he had spoken them aloud. He looked up into the intense blue eyes and the last gossamer thread that held him back parted like air, and he was on the bed, scooping Ingwë into his arms and laying him down on the soft moss. He laughed himself then, recalling the astonishing letter.
   "So, I have been given instructions!" he said, and Ingwë laughed again.
   "I am still not sorry!"
   Glorfindel pinned him down and looked into his eyes, trying to muster words, but the heat of the firm body in his arms blasted thought from his mind. His skin was melting, he leaned forward and kissed the long throat, then down across the smooth chest, and at last the laughter of Ingwë was stilled, and a low moan came from the ever-smiling lips. But Glorfindel was exploring the tender flesh by Ingwë's hip, feeling the hard flesh beside his neck, then brushing his cheek. He smiled triumphantly, and turned his head slightly and ran his tongue across the tip. Ingwë moaned again "oh please" he whispered "please..."

    Glorfindel smiled without looking up and took Ingwë into his mouth, and closed his eyes with bliss. He gripped the slim body, running a hand down the ribs, the waist, the hips, and around to the smooth hard cheeks. His body was aflame, he could scarcely breathe, even had his mouth not been full. He thrust his fingers inside Ingwë, who arched his back and gave a small cry. Glorfindel sucked hard one last time, then lifted his head and looked up into the frantic eyes of Ingwë, and smiled with his own eyes hooded. Ingwë went limp in his arms, and he parted the unresisting thighs, and steered himself into the waiting body.
   The bliss was exquisite, Glorfindel arched his own back, gazing up with unseeing eyes at the faint glimmer of the clouds, and the faint mist of spray fading into the sky. His body was still, on the crest of the wave, he felt that with a slight effort, the merest flick of wings, he would rise from the little bowl and soar into the sky, bearing the living body of Ingwë in his arms...
   But the insistent demands of his flesh drew him down into the bowl, into his body, into Ingwë's body, and he thrust deeper into the enveloping flesh, and Ingwë spoke in a voice hoarse with desire "You were flying"
   Glorfindel was awoken from frenzy with a cold blast of thought "That was you? You were sharing thought with me?"
   "Perhaps, a little. But without intent. I think I merely remember other times I have been here, and other times I have thought of this place, of why we built it, and... and everything. But please, please do not stop, I beg you!"
   They moved together, their flesh so heated by desire and by the vigour of their movement that the water filling the air around them seemed turned to steam. The presence of Ingwë seemed to melt away, fading into mist, and then oblivion, and at last Glorfindel looked down into the beautiful face and saw only abandon. He realised that he had not yet kissed Ingwë, and he stooped over the pale parted lips and touched them gently with his own.
   And then the frenzy took them both, their bodies thrashed, their limbs writhed, their teeth almost knocked together until Glorfindel lifted his head, pressed their cheeks together and thrust and thrust and thrust until he was one with the roar of the water, with the bed of moss and with the body of Ingwe.
   The moment of ecstasy filled the spirit of Glorfindel with a searing blast, almost too intense for pleasure, too deep for desire. Ingwë had shouted something, words that Glorfindel had not recognised, but he could not breathe, he slid from Ingwë, rolled onto his back and gasped for air. His body settled slowly into bliss, and after a time he sighed and opened his eyes.

   Ingwë leaned over him, looking younger somehow, the laughter in his eyes merrier and more carefree than Glorfindel had ever seen.
   "Oh Glorfindel! I have waited so long for you!"
   "Really?"
   "Since the first day we met, when you came to Tirion. I know it is not long in the life of an Elf, but it is long when every dream you have is filled with visions of tumbling golden hair! When your food tastes of nothing, when wine cannot quench the thirst, when the very Light becomes gaudy because it does not shine on this!" He thrust a hand deep into Glorfindel's hair and gripped a thick twist of gold. Then he smiled mischievously "And I know that you have thought of me!"
   Glorfindel laughed and pulled Ingwë on top of him, and stroked his back, and parted his buttocks and held him open "Yes" he said "I have thought of you often!"