Ilverien by Lferion

Return

The absent return and reconnect

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L:G5 Urban Fantasy, A:G3 Arthur Rackham, P:O4 Sonnet, F:G5 Fake Dating

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The Ferry had been late, delayed first by an awkward piece of cargo, and then by a pod of cavorting dolphins, inviting the Elves to come swim with them. There were already several Elves in the water with them. Erien had been enchanted. Maedhros held her up so she could watch them even after they had agreed to play somewhere other than in the shipping lanes. Orenthis had been waiting with cart and carriage in the deepening twilight, and they were on the road home with smooth efficiency, but travel was slower at night, even with a first quarter moon and keen eyes. Erien had insisted on being fed in the carriage, and was now full and nearly asleep in the arms of her nanny. Maedhros hoped Fingon would not be disappointed at not feeding her until tomorrow. She would be wanting her bed very soon after they arrived home. Perhaps helping put her to bed would make up for it.

Ai, he wanted Fingon in his arms, every multifaceted, complicated, beloved inch of him -- quick mind, generous heart, expressive, responsive, beautiful body. Easy to arouse (too easy, Fingon would say, exasperated at tented leggings, a too-short tunic, a distracting itch slow to subside; there were other things he needed to do), and delightfully satisfying to please. So many things to tell him, discuss, hear his opinion on. So many things he wanted -- ached -- to do with him. Ilverien felt the same. It had been a very long two months.

Maedhros and Ilverien indeed knew, seeing Fingon waiting for them in the entry-hall straight-backed, carefully dressed, the tips of his ears becomingly flushed. Embracing him hello was delightfully informative icing. They hugged him between them, Ilverien from the front, Maedhros from the back, and in that tiny bubble of privacy, Maedhros took Fingon's full breasts in both hands, thumbs dipping below the edge of the gold-shot crimson silk breast-band to sweep across peaked nipples, aching to be touched and suckled. Fingon arched into those hands, the plug rocking within him, the fine chains shifting. Ilverien had one hand on him, then her thigh was pressing between his legs, and both her hands were gripping his nether-cheeks through the silken drape of the kilt, pulling his hips forward, hard against hip and belly. He shuddered in their firm embrace, on the edge of undone, only the snug cock-ring and his own formidable will kept him from coming there and then. (He wanted proper privacy, their comfortable, suitable bed, his husband and wife to take their time with him. He wanted, and knew they wanted as well.)

In the safety of their ams, Fingon brought his breath under control, his arousal back from the edge, to a steady, suspended state, maintainable with care. They were home, spouses and child safe and sound.

But there was still the Household-facing part of the evening to traverse with grace, even enjoyment. Cook -- all the kitchen staff -- had something special planned for supper; small and special now, since it was so late, and the household-feast tomorrow. There were people moving around them -- the hall was big enough they were not hindering the unloading of the personal gear, or any of the other myriad tasks of such an arrival. They were better placed where everyone knew where they were, and not trying to help. Nearly every person in the household had been in Beleriand with one or another of them, fiercely loyal and very good at their jobs. Best to stay out of their way. It was nice to just be together.

Ilinis stepped lightly through the slowing bustle with a freshly diapered Erien. The three of them pulled apart enough to let her in. She grinned at Fingon, and almost before he could reach out, Erien was expertly snuggled in his arms. A feather-light touch, and one side of the breast-band was tucked to support rather than (barely) cover.

"Just a sip now," Ilinis said as Fingon guided his daughter's mouth to his waiting nipple, "She had a very good supper, and is wanting her bed, but both of you need the moment."

Fingon's knees went weak as Erien took hold and sucked, and his breasts responded. Maedhros and Ilverien had their arms around his waist, guiding him the few steps backward to one of the padded benches against the wall. He was wholly engaged with the small, solid person in his arms, suckling, her blue-green-copper-bright spirit reaching out to his with sleepy certainty and trust. He folded her in his love, his astonishment, his hope for her, and the reaching tendrils twined firmly around the blue-silver of him, seamless and solid, just as if the connections made at her birth had not been pulled thin and transparent by their separation before they were so interwoven mere distance would have no effect.

Perhaps they should have taken the joking suggestion that he and Ilinis pretend to be a couple, dry-nurse and wet-nurse to the infant princess, merely part of the retinue of Prince Maedhros. Dressed in the feminine version of the Household livery, plain-braided hair under a cap, they might well have gotten away with it, especially if Tirion herself had chosen to help. But the consequences of being discovered directly flouting the suggestion-that-was-not-a-suggestion that he stay at the Cottage, on Tol Eressëa, would not have been worth it.

He bent to kiss the top of Erien's head. she left off sucking, and turned to look up at him and smile. Very gently he kissed her forehead. He hardly noticed Ilinis rearranging the breast-band for him, tucking a soft pad over the tender nipple. They were very good at what they did, and he, they, were extremely fortunate to have her. Her previous household had not appreciated her properly at all. (Not to mention saying she must be a changeling or a creature of Faery or even worse. Because she was shorter than most Elves, with hair like a dandelion puff, near-colorless skin, and rumored to have been a captive of one or another of the black foe's minions. The truth was much more complicated. And irrelevant.)

She -- they -- were part of the Cottage household now, for as long as they chose to be. And much, much happier. And who would not be, with an Erien in their life? Erien was asleep now, still smiling. Almost reluctantly Fingon gave her back to Ilinis. She was home now, perceptibly present again in his mind. And none of them were going anywhere for a good long while.

"Thank you, Ilinis, for everything you do. I hope you have a quiet, restful night."

Ilinis dipped her head, eyes twinkling, "It is my pleasure. I hope you "-- her gaze encompassed all three of them sitting close on the bench -- "have an enjoyable and restorative night yourselves. Do try to get some sleep." And she was away down the hall to the nursery.

"Supper first," said Maedhros, holding out a hand to both husband and wife, "Shall we?"

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At last the doors are closed, the candles lit
No duty stern or interruption nigh,
Here only joyful work, where love doth sit
Preparing to make love, no touch deny
No law or custom come between we three
Plumb depths within ourselves, scale heights of need
These sheets anoint again with ecstasy
Nor laundry fail to honor love in deed
Confirmed in carnal vigor, give, receive
Such pleasure of the body, mind and fëa
As only Vaire knows within her weave
Bind self to self to self in promise free
Oh Eru witness: love and honor true
Doth shield and hold these three conjoined anew

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