Another Lesson by Rocky41_7

Another Lesson

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“Arwen.”

            The young Noldo stood at the threshold of the queen’s room, but did not enter. Her hands were clenched at her sides.

            “Come.” Melian spoke, as she always did, serenely. She did not raise her voice. She did not harden her eyes. She did not repeat herself.

            And Artanis, despite her best intentions, passed over the threshold and came to the queen’s side.

            “Sit.”

            Artanis knelt at Melian’s slippered feet.

            “Remember you what I told you this morning?”

            Artanis grit her teeth against the answer that pulsed against the back of her teeth. The desire to respond writhed in her chest until, fearing she would give herself away, she gave an answer:

            “Yes, my queen.”

            Melian was not mollified. She reached out and stroked Artanis’ cheek, drawing a shudder through her, and some twisting feeling in her gut. Melian’s magic prowled around the edges of Artanis’ fëa; she did not probe, but Artanis knew she was capable of it. She resisted the urge to lean into Melian’s touch.

            “I told you I wished you to stay silent at today’s meeting, did I not?”

            “Yes, my queen.”

            “Why did you heed me not?”

            “I…” I wanted to make you angry. “I thought I had insight to offer. Please, forgive me if I was not helpful to my queen.” Swallowing the bile in her throat, Artanis leaned forward to genuflect, but although her hands hit the floor, she could not make her elbows bend, could not make herself kowtow. “It is always my desire to serve the most noble queen of Doriath.”

            “Tsk. Pride compounded by lies,” said Melian. “You’ve been a bad girl, Arwen. I would not be fair to you to let this pass.”

            Artanis shuddered again and she did not know if the heat that rose in her breast was hers alone, or some magic of Melian’s. She wanted to strike the queen. She wanted to fling herself into Melian’s arms.

            “Of course not, my queen.”

            “Look at me, Arwen.” Teeth grinding, Artanis raised her head, knowing she was about to make things worse for herself. She could never keep the anger from her eyes; Melian’s remonstrations echoed those of her mother and father, who warned her how much of her mind she wrote across her face. How Finrod managed to smile and speak lightly even when she knew him to be wroth always escaped her. Perhaps that was why he was king and she a handmaiden of Doriath. “Tsk. And unrepentant, too. Have I not treated you well?”

            Melian rose to her feet and tugged Artanis up with her. She traced her fingers again down the side of Artanis’ alabaster face, studying her Tree-lit eyes with thoughts unknowable. Melian wore the form of Elvenkind, but she rarely allowed those around to forget what she truly was—there was an air of otherness, of inhumanity that she could not erase no matter how well she wore her costume. It was in her eyes.

            “Have I been an unkind mistress to you, Arwen?”

            “No, my queen.”

            “Have I not welcomed you into my home, allowed you my daughter as a playmate, even taken you as one of my own handmaids?” Melian’s long, tapering fingers swept down Artanis’ throat, momentarily fingering the necklace just below the hollow of her throat. “Are you not honored?”

            “Yes, my queen. I am honored.”

            “And yet you disobey. You rebel. Your pride compels you, even where there is nothing to gain. Why is that?” Melian’s hand stopped at Artanis’ breast, and she wondered how little force it would take for Melian to push straight through to her heart.

            “I don’t know, my queen.” Daring, she added: “Perhaps it is simply a flaw of mine.”

            “Mm, that, certainly. You will go nowhere and accomplish nothing if you cannot learn to master yourself, chicklet.” Melian drew her close with a hand at her hip. Artanis laid her head on Melian’s shoulder, enveloped in the sharp, earthy smell of her, and the Maia queen stroked the golden waterfall of her hair. The tension strung through her like a clothesline since she entered the room eased. “This is a punishment, dear girl,” Melian said. “But it is more than that. It is a lesson.”

            Artanis felt Melian’s desire for her to kneel again before any words left her plump lips. This time, she face away from the vanity bench, and Melian wove into her hair a set of Melian’s own ribbons. It would have been a flattering gesture, a sign of the queen’s favor, if it were not coupled with something else—a woven necklace of reed, imbued with Melian’s own magic. She bound it around Artanis’ neck like the collar of a thrall, and when Melian pressed with her magic, Artanis could feel that hot pressure around her throat; she gasped and fell forward in spite of herself, instinctively clawing at the foreign object.

            “Don’t touch,” said Melian, her gentle words a whip crack that instantly pulled Artanis’ hand away from her neck. “When you have proven to be a good girl, I will remove it.”

***

            Thingol was not pleased with such displays of Melian’s in Menegroth’s throne room, but in the relative privacy of their dining hall, she took her freedoms. Food was not necessary for a Maia, but she dined with her family all the same—she knew that the partaking of meals was an important bonding ritual for the Children, and Luthien often took this time to share such news as she had with her parents.

            At Melian’s feet was Finarfin’s daughter, with her head resting placidly against Melian’s thigh. Melian fed her bits of fruit and meat off the table, smiling each time Artanis obediently took the food from her fingers.

            “That’s my sweet girl,” she cooed, running sticky fingers through Artanis’ hair. “Does it not ease you to be good?”

            Dazed, Artanis nodded. Melian tried to offer her another bite of food, but Artanis turned her face away against Melian’s leg.

            “What’s that? All done? You haven’t eaten very much.”

            “Tired,” Artanis murmured.

            “Ah, it must be the new spell.” Melian reached down and stroked the collar. Getting it on her would have been a harder task if she had not been whittling at Artanis’ resistance since her arrival in Doriath. “I’m afraid it is rather a stronger one than usual. So let us hope you need not wear it long, yes?”

            Artanis murmured unhappily and Melian gave her a sympathetic look.

            “Husband, I believe I will take my leave for now,” she said to Thingol. “Poor Arwen is not feeling well.” Refraining from any comment on Melian’s choice of bonding with the Children, Thingol made no remark on her departure, though Melian nudged Artanis to say goodnight to Luthien on their way out.

            As a reward for her docility, Melian allowed Artanis to lie in her bed for a time before being sent away to her own. Sleep was another thing a Maia did not need, but Thingol had seen fit to outfit Melian’s chambers with all the comforts one of the Elves would have desired. She made use of them as she saw fit.

            “See you how easy things can be when you behave?” Melian murmured against Artanis’ hair. “You see how nice?”

            “I see, my queen,” came the drowsy reply. “I will…be good for you.”

            “Good.” Melian kissed her temple and she was sure that Artanis thought she didn’t see the clenched fist at Artanis’ side. “If you are not, I shall be sorely disappointed.”

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