Pillow Talk by Lyra

Pillow Talk

We almost got into a fight, Fëanáro and I, during our wedding night.

Not that it didn't start out fine. After the day's feasting – and what a splendid feast it had been! – and all the talking and dancing and smiling, it was pleasant to rest between the cool sheets. I had to wait for him; he had insisted on taking a proper bath whereas I had decided that a quick wash was perfectly sufficient, but that was no trouble. I did not mind being alone for a moment, reviewing the day in my mind so that I might remember it forever.

He had not bothered to take a towel, but that was no trouble either. We were, after all, in our own house – and what a strange thought that was, our house! - and on our own, and besides he could certainly afford to go naked if he wished to. He paused in the door, leaning against the frame. His eyes were darker than usual, warmer, full of joy. I took in the sight of him, lean and well-muscled and insultingly handsome. My husband, I thought, and the tingling feeling in my stomach intensified. He was dripping water from his hair, I couldn't help noticing. No matter. We had waxed and polished the wooden boards only days ago; they would survive a few droplets of water until Fëanáro had time to wipe them up.
"My husband," I said out loud. The corners of my mouth crept into an absurd smile. I sat up, and held out my hand.
"My wife," said Fëanáro, smiling broadly himself, and he finally crossed the distance between the door and the bed.

Of course we were not actually husband and wife, not yet. It had been a close call on a few occasions, but we had managed to restrain ourselves, limiting the nights that we had been able to spend together to (mostly) harmless exploration, to kisses and touches of hands and lips. We had been good, we had not betrayed our families' trust, we had waited until the year was over, we had waited for the feast and the exchange of blessings. We were not truly married yet; although judging by the heat I felt in my stomach and between my legs, judging by Fëanáro's moan as my hand lightly brushed his hardening penis, it would not take long until we were. Some rule of propriety still kept us tame yet, kissing and fondling and teasing each other instead of plunging right in; but surely it would not be long.

And indeed it wasn't long before our eyes met, and we both agreed that propriety be damned, we had waited long enough and there was no good reason to hold back any longer. Fëanáro pressed himself against me, breathing hard already, and it took all my resolve to hold him back just for a moment. "The invocation," I whispered, and he had the grace to look abashed.
"Right," he said, "the invocation," and we clasped warm, sweaty hands and murmured the words that, as was customary, I had learned from my mother and Fëanáro would have learned from his father, calling onto Eru Himself to witness and bless our union. I had wondered in secret whether I would notice Eru's presence after that. I cannot say if I did. Everything was anticipation and warmth and delight in that moment, everything was strange and new; how should I know how much of that was just our own heat, and how much was something higher?

When we were sated and exhausted, we simply lay there, upon the coverlets, our legs entangled. Fëanáro still somehow had the energy to play with my hair; I was too overwhelmed to move at all. The yearning heat had turned into a quite wonderful contented glow; my heartbeat slowly returned to its usual gait. My mind was quiet for once. All I managed was a drowsy smile.
Fëanáro returned it, looking quite exhausted himself; but his mind was nonetheless at work.
"You know, it strikes me as a strange thing, this invocation," he said. His voice was thicker than usual, husky, reminding me of the many-layered silk robes he had worn for the celebrations. My voice, when I answered, was no less strange: Although I had my breath back, I still sounded breathless, and it seemed unnecessarily difficult to articulate words.
"Strange? But that's how it's done," I managed.
"That's exactly what I mean," said Fëanáro, his hands moving down from my hair to my own hands, which he clasped. "We're normally so hesitant to call upon Eru, or to mention His name--"
Even in my exhausted state, I had started at the mention of Eru's name, and Fëanáro smiled: My point exactly.
"I don't know how it was for you," he continued, "but when Father taught me the words, he wouldn't even say it. He said, ‘and here you speak The Name', and then went on with the rest, as if it were somehow wrong to just pronounce it and be done."
My mother had chosen a similar way out, but I did not find that strange at all.
"Well, you don't mention His Name without good reason! Everybody knows that," I pointed out. And everybody did. Only foolish children, just beginning to learn their history, might idly chatter about Eru until they were taught better.
"Ah, yes," said Fëanáro, entirely unperturbed. "Everybody knows. And under these circumstances you find it not at all strange that the one time we're supposed to call upon Eru –" I blinked, startled again – "is when we're about to sleep with each other for the first time? What kind of logic is that?"

I frowned in confusion, not certain if I saw his point. He promptly explained what he meant. "Look, let's put it this way. So there is this immensely powerful supreme being that created everything, or created those that created everything, which I suppose amounts to the same. And after this act of creation, it... it just kind of looses interest. But the one time it pays attention, the one time we're supposed to speak its name, the one time we call its presence to us... is our first time of sexual intercourse? The lust, the fumbling, the awkwardness – our first time, when we don't yet quite know how it works, we just have all our parents' vague hints and warnings in mind - and that's what Eru desires to witness? Seriously? Of all things?"
My face burned with embarrassment, and I was fairly certain that his speech not merely bordered on blasphemy but had well crossed the line. Yet I tried to make light of it.
"I should like to hope that there was no awkwardness involved," I said, a little stiffly perhaps. It had certainly not felt particularly awkward. From a certain point on, you pretty much know what to do, if you get my drift. And it's not like we hadn't practiced how to get to that point, in a way. I liked to think that we had done very well – from the way my mother had explained it to me, it had sounded far more complicated. Awkwardness? Hah!
Fëanáro kissed my hands with a soft laugh, and when his head came up again, his eyes were sparkling mischievously. "Indeed not, beloved – you are most graceful in your throes of passion," he said. His tone was sincere enough, yet I felt the heat in my cheeks intensify. Fëanáro didn't seem to notice. "No, surely we did far better than can be expected; we for our part did not disappoint the All-father with our performance."
"Fëanáro!"
"Well, what?" he said, giving me a perfectly innocent stare. "Have I invented this absurd custom?"
"But you keep talking about it!" I sat up, the drowsy contentment driven away, and hid my red face in my hands.
"Whether I talk about it or not is hardly relevant," said Fëanáro. "It is our custom. We can probably safely assume that most if not all married couples observed it, as we did. Observed it, Nerdanel! Actually did it! Thousands of people! Yet here you blush because I talk about it!"
"They probably never thought about it twice!"
"Well, more's the pity! Following customs without thinking about them is just plain folly. And if you find it so very embarrassing on reflection, perhaps it simply is a very odd custom."
My hands were no longer enough to bury my face in; I had to add my pillow. I said nothing. I just thought, there goes my wedding night, ruined by reflection.
Fëanáro seemed to realise that he had upset me. His hands stroked my shoulders, my arms. Even these innocent touches made me hunger for more again.
But no.
"If I were Eru," Fëanáro said, perhaps encouraged by my body's foolish responses, "I'd rather wait until a couple had attained a certain proficiency before I dropped by to watch them."
"Fëanáro!" I was almost shrieking now.
"If I were the kind of... being... who likes to watch couplings in the first place."
"Will you shut up!"
"Still, I suppose all this means that Eru is a lot quirkier than the Valar let us know, eh?"
"Enough! Enough already!"
"Which is a nice thought somehow. I don't think you'd catch Námo witnessing a couple's first night. Or Manwë! Can you imagine?"
"I don't want to imagine!"
"He'd probably have to hide his blushing face in the clouds, the way you're hiding in that pillow – ow!" I'd finally had enough, using said pillow to thwap his inappropriately cheerful face.
"All right, all right – I give up!" His voice was muffled by the pillow. I removed it to glare at him. His eyes were still sparkling with amusement, but he was good to his word. "I'm sorry if I offended you, my love. I did not mean to." He bowed his head in penitence, though I was sure that his eyes, now hidden from me, looked no more sober than before.
"Fine, you're forgiven," I said unceremoniously, returning the pillow to its rightful place and turning my back on him.
He moved a little later. The mattress shifted as he sat up; then I heard his feet on the floorboards. I could not help turning my head to look what he was doing. He got up and walked to the window. In Telperion's pale light, his hair looked almost blueish; still wet, it stuck to the elegant curve of his back. Then he closed the curtains, and the room grew dark.
I stared at nothing in particular, feeling my anger dissipate, making way for regret. Why had he insisted on discussing this topic? It had ruined everything. The worst thing was, now that he finally let it rest, I couldn't stop thinking about it. It was odd, if you looked at it. Well, that was probably what one got for trying to understand that which is beyond our understanding. A headache, an argument, and blasphemic discussions in the silver hours of night. And perhaps, I thought with growing alarm – I really couldn't leave it alone while there was still time, could I? – the One had witnessed our argument, too.
And we had not been struck by lightning.
I relaxed a little, then. It had been a very embarrassing argument, but perhaps that really was the worst of it. Perhaps Eru did not mind. Perhaps He was quirkier than the Valar let on. Perhaps, somewhere beyond being, He was having a hearty laugh.
I turned back towards Fëanáro; my hand found his chest, and slowly, slowly made its way downwards. He said nothing, but I heard the anticipation in his breath. I inched closer, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
"You know what?"
"What, love?"
"Now that we're no longer under surveillance... the next time will be even better."