The Flower Market by oshun

Chapter 1

The heat and brightness of Laurelin at the apex of its waxing drove sensible inhabitants of Tirion indoors for luncheon and a nap. However, not since the awakening at Cuiviénen, have young men in pursuit of maidens ever been counted among the levelheaded. Although he might be able to admit his own foolishness, our intrepid prince could not control his behavior. Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanarion, known to his father and brothers as Nelyo, to his sweet Amil as Maitimo, and to his extended family and friends as Russo, had arranged an assignation. The daring young lady he planned to meet preferred as well to address him as Maitimo. The tease of a flirt pronounced the mellifluous syllables with a self-consciously seductive cadence.

Maitimo strolled easily through the narrow passageways winding among the market stalls. Deserted and silent at that moment, not long before they had been thronged with shoppers and echoed with the din of the merchants courting them. ‘Come buy! Come buy! Roses and Honeysuckle! Lilies and sweet peas!’ Rich and poor, young and old, wise and fatuous, all of Tirion adored the flower market in the lower city.

He spotted her waiting in front of the stand of the lily vendor. With her lovely arms bared to the shoulder, her mustard yellow dress contrasted perfectly with the tumbling mass of black curls pulling loose from its hair pins. Silhouetted against the fuchsia awing and the waxy white flowers, she looked like a Maia of youth in full bloom. The perfume of the decaying sweetness of cut flowers reminded him of sex, like everything about the market reminded him of sex, even the names of the parts of the flowers, stamens and pistils and ovaries, as did his chosen maid, lush and overripe for the plucking.

“At last you’re here!” She laughed, extending her hand to him. He took it and she pulled him close to her, whispering, her breath warm upon his neck, “My beautiful Maitimo. I’ve thought of nothing but you all morning.”

He kissed her and she leaned into him, her small, high breasts pushing against him. He could feel her nipples harden through the thin cloth of her summer gown. Everything about her spoke to him of desire, hers as well as his own; her flushed cheek, her luscious mouth, and the honeyed taste of melon on her tongue nearly drove him wild.

“I told my Amme about you. She said I should be careful,” she announced with a mocking smile. “You have a reputation, you know--that you like the maids too much. And that they shamelessly chase after you, the eldest grandson of the King. She says you’ll gobble me up and spit out the pit.”

“Ha!” he said. “With all due respect to your mother, she does not know you well. The reverse is more likely to be true.”

“You wish! Or are you asking? Do you want me to eat you up, sweet prince? If you do, you’ll have to plead more nicely.”