Erendis: A Love Story by oshun

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First Engagement

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Erendis knew she would never forget the moment she saw Aldarion for the first time.

He stood noticeably taller than his father, who was far from a short man. Aldarion had a rugged jaw line, coupled with the Elvish high cheeks bones and the lovely mouth of the line of Elros. Instead of the grey eyes and black hair of his many times removed granddame Lúthien, he more resembled portraits that Erendis had seen of Eärendil the Mariner with his thick golden hair.

She imagined this man could have been the model for a painting of Eärendil, standing at the prow of a ship, high and noble of brow, but with a dramatic tilt of the head that spoke to the viewer of a lust for adventure and boundless courage in the face of danger. Aldarion would have posed a contradiction to those time-honored portraits only by the hint of merriment about his eyes. She had heard rumors that he was irrepressible--brilliant, but a trial to his father. That description was far from unattractive to her. She appreciated the concept of wanting to follow one’s own path against expectations.

She smiled to herself at the old aphorism she had often heard made among the chattering women in the markets of Andúnië: ‘Seamen make the best sweethearts, but terrible husbands.’ It was likely as not to be followed by some sad-eyed young woman’s remark along the lines of, ‘Aye. Tis true. They’ll break your heart a thousand times over.’ No worries there for her. She had no intention of marrying the heir to the Sceptre of Númenor, whether he aspired to be a mariner or a goatherd or a reincarnated High King of the Noldor. Her mother might have delusions of grandeur, but she had none. Meanwhile, she found him a gorgeous man to observe—those broad shoulders and narrow waist, and eyes that shone as blue as a midsummer mountain sky, all the brighter contrasted to his sailor’s tan.

Moving with the grace of a dancer and the strength of an athlete, the prince reached his mother and his sisters. Without concern for any courtly formality, he pulled each of them in turn into a full embrace. The girls squealed at force of his hugs, while his mother only laughed.

Despite an air of self-confident authority, he retained a boyish affectation of tossing his head repeatedly in an attempt to shake a fringe of tousled golden hair off his forehead.

Beaming as though she had just witnessed the first rising of the Sun, Queen Almarian held his face in her hands and said, “My darling Anardilya!” Erendis would shortly learn that the name she used was Aldarion’s pet name within his family. “Come with me. We have a guest I would like you to meet.”

He instantly swiveled to look directly at Erendis. A half-smile and a slight cock of the head informed her that he had already spotted her and, disturbingly, had noticed that she had been watching him.

“Are you one of Ailinel’s little friends?” he asked blinking his thick lashes at her, a maddening mixture of black and gold, which further enhanced the beauty of his pale eyes. He really should take control of that mannerism, she thought. It might be tolerated or even charming in an adolescent boy in the first throes of awareness of the effect of his attractiveness upon women; a prince, one would presume, ought to wish to appear more self-aware.

“Indeed?” she asked in an arch tone, too snippy by far. “Is it considered appropriate to refer to an acquaintance of the elder of your sisters as ‘little’?”

He bit his lower lip, in yet another seemingly unconscious quirk. Bowing his head, with his hand on his chest in a gesture of supplication, he said, “You are right to chastise me. I most humbly beg your forgiveness. She will always be my baby sister to me, but I promise to try to choose my language more carefully in the presence of a mature lady like you. My eyes were deceived by the fresh bloom of your loveliness.” The apology seemed sincere, if the manner of presenting it was playful and more than a little silly.

“Fie, my lord! You are making fun of me in the same breath that you ask for my pardon.” His audaciousness and her own intemperate response to it left Erendis feeling befuddled, young, provincial and, worst of all, judgmental. “Indeed, your sister is younger than me,” she stammered. “But I admire her intellect.”

“Is it rude to ask how old you are, Lady Erendis?” She noticed that Aldarion’s voice had turned low and caressing. His hand placed in the middle of her back guided her gently away from the others. She liked being the object of the force of all that charm, but feared it as well. Her pulse quickened while her heart softened.

Of course, it’s rude, she thought, but no more rude than the manner in which she had addressed the heir to the throne of Númenor.

“Still a few years younger than you perhaps. I am afraid I have been misrepresented, sir. The Queen is too generous. I am no lady. Nor is my father the lord of anyone, except himself and his own considerable talents.”

She forgave herself for being slightly disingenuous. As one of the wealthiest men in Númenor, her father was not without power. But it was true that he would never be a noble and, to the best of her knowledge, they had not a drop of the blood of Elros.

Aldarion laughed and the world turned golden around him. The glorious effect might have been partially caused by the serving men’s addition of several freestanding torches. The night sky above them had by then turned completely black and studded with stars.

“You have no idea how old I am, do you?” he asked in a honeyed voice. “Do you know how unusual and refreshing that is? In this city, people know everything there is to know about me, from the banal details of my daily life to my most cherished aspirations. May I accompany you into dinner?” He extended his arm to her and she took it.

“I'd be honored, my lord. Rest easy if you thought I might have been one of those maidens seeking a princely husband. I am in no rush to find any kind of master. I hardly know my own mind yet.”

He laughed. “I’ll admit, for the first time in my life, I had hoped for a moment that you might one of those maidens. If you had been I might have been in danger of reconsidering my own reluctance to wed. But I can see now a number of reasons why I prefer you precisely the way you are and all of them make you far more appealing than the usual ladies my mother presents for my approval.”

“Hmm. Sir, has anyone ever told you that you are a manipulative flirt?”

“Such a sharp tongue. No doubt many have thought I am. You are the first to tell me to my face, my lady.” Against her better judgment, battered by his smile, her heart constricted again. She began to feel guilty that she had ever assumed him insincere. He was maddening, honest to a fault, frustrating, and unconscionably attractive, and her reactions to him were completely out of control.

“Your highness, I presume too much. Forgive me my impertinence.”

“You should call me Anardilya as I am known to my family and my closest friends. Or, if that seems too intimate for you still, at very least call me Anardil, my birth name. I will call you Erendis.” Yes. Anardil suited him. He was like a blast of sunlight breaking into a darkened room. He was also presumptuous, perhaps dangerous, and utterly delicious.

As they entered into the dining room of the palace, where the lights of hundreds of candles reflected off glittering crystal and plate, he whispered into her ear. “Look. Your mother and mine are looking in our direction, quite smug. Clearly it would please them if we should desire to know one another better.” His breath upon her neck caused her to shiver.

“Ha! I can see why my mother would be delighted. But I have no idea why yours would be.”

“You underestimate your appeal. You are very beautiful and clever, well-spoken and just arrogant enough to fit into this august company, line of Elros or not. And different enough from the usual that she has hopes you will interest me. But no more of this stupid nonsense. It is unpleasant enough to think that everyone else here tonight will be discussing those same questions. We need not do it ourselves.”

“What would you like to talk about, Prince Aldarion?”

“Just Anardil, please. I want to know about you and where you come from. I have heard there are virgin forests in the northern lands that encroach upon father’s holdings. What are those trees like?”

She released a sigh of disappointment. If they could be friends, she would want to share her love of those primeval forests, not talk about timber. She was excited to have met this entertaining prince just when she feared of tiring of Armenelos and the latest enthusiasms of the court. A discussion of a new breed of lap dog or the surprising predominance of lavender among colors most often chosen for this season’s dresses would be intolerable after more than five minutes.

“They are like all trees. Tall and strong. Smell very nice.” She grinned up at him, denying him the specific information she knew he wanted. Looking into his eyes, seeing the amused twinkle, she thought in that moment that she could learn to love him. Meanwhile the censorious imp on her shoulder accused her of being ridiculous. She did not want him and could not hold him if she had. She might as well tell him her truth about the forests.

“They smell of the most marvelous green, distilled sunlight and rain. They are filled with life--insects, beasts and birds. Walking under their canopy one is enveloped in bird song, not the harsh shriek of seagulls, but a symphony of trills, coos, and burbles. And, above it all, one can sometimes see an eagle floating against the sky or a swift merlin diving to snatch a red squirrel from a branch. And the most magnificent of the woodlands’ denizens, which even you might appreciate, is the mature stag with his rack of many prongs.”

Stopping to catch her breath, she looked up at him fearful of seeing that his eyes had glazed over as did those of many when she launched into one of her all too frequent immoderate odes to the northwestern forests. Instead, he looked rapt, completely engaged, perhaps slightly amused, but not in a bad way.

Almost shamefaced she had to add one last qualifying statement, to make sure he got her point. “The forests are magic there at the foot of the mountains. We must not allow hunters or hounds to upset the balance of that world. There are other less pristine places where one may hunt.” Blushing, she recalled belatedly that the actual control of those unsettled lands belonged not to her but to the crown and what her handsome prince wanted from her forests was far more threatening that the encroachments of any hunters. She scowled at him and he smiled back.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, his voice a reverential caress. He reached his hand up to her face, a lover’s touch. She did not know it then, but it was to be the first of many. Then, breaking the mood, he laughed, a warm, rich sound. He dared to all but make love to her while standing at his father’s dinner table, in front of the entire court and their families, who waited for their dinner. She did not know if she was horrified or merely intrigued by his audacity.

“What a description,” he said. “I simply wanted to ask if the trees were tall and straight, suitable for masts.” Before she dealt with that frankly stated atrocity, she looked around to see if everyone else had taken their seats.

“Relax. We have plenty of time,” he said. “Look. The Queen at her most formidable! And frightening. Rearranging place cards. I predict you are moving up the table. I hope she puts you next to me and not across from me. What were we talking about? Masts!” He touched her face again, under the guise of brushing a stand of hair from her cheek.

She fiercely grabbed his errant hand. “Oh, your highness, if you think that you . . .”

“Please, at least try to call me Anardil!” She laughed with him, but with a premonition of disaster well-tamped down for the moment.

 “You are far more dangerous than any hunter with his weapons, clumsy feet, and baying hounds. Stay away from my forests, you rascal!” Unspoken was the wish that he not tread heavily on her heart either.

“You are a formidable adversary for anyone fool enough to counter you head on. I must learn your weaker points and plot my assault well. Now let me tell you about masts and why they are important for all of us.”

“I will listen. Do not expect that you will convince me to support the ravishment of our virgin woodlands. I listen only because I know that sailors spin a fine yarn.”

“Ah! Hung about the docks in Andúnië as a girl, did you? I know more about you that you realize. My sisters write me letters, filled with court gossip.” He grinned wickedly. “I have been discussing with my grandfather—Commander Vëantur—I am sure you have heard of him, the greatest shipbuilder in Númenor today, and an unparalleled mariner as well—that we must consider both taller masts and wider sails. He agrees with me. But we need timber with the right girth and single trees straight and strong enough to hold up well against the wind without undue strain on the ship itself. But a tree that tall does not come to maturity in a few short years.”

“I see. So you need trees from forests which have been growing from time out of mind? Small thing that is! Shameless man.”

“Such language. I think you must like me!” He smirked and she fumed back at him, not lacking in affection. She felt already like she had known him half of her life.

“You’ll have to do better than that,” she said. “I think you need to figure out a way to construct masts using more than one piece of wood. Then you will not have to pillage irreplaceable resources. If Fëanor could make a Silmaril, surely a well-placed engineer like you, with so many clever associates, who has lurked about the shipyards of Rómenna since childhood, ought to be able to solve that puzzle.”

“I am taking notes, fair Erendis. Actually, just teasing. You have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, but I like your spirit. Have you ever observed the pressure on a mast in gale-force winds?”

“I have never been on a ship,” she asserted without shame. But she found herself looking into his eyes again and laughing aloud. No one could deny that his single-minded intensity contributed to his charm. “Look.” She nodded in the direction of the head of the table. “Your father is waiting for us to take our seats to say the Eruhantalë before dinner.”

His mother had seated her on the other side of the table from him, close enough to talk, but not intimately. He pulled her chair out and saw her seated, but before sliding the chair under the edge of the table, he leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “I will find you after dinner.”

All eyes had fixed upon them. “Thank you, my lord,” she said softly, but clearly. “Your wish is my command.” She turned slightly to catch his expression and was satisfied to see him grin in response. She already knew that she liked him much too much.

After dinner there was music, dancing and strolling about the palace gardens, poignant with the scent of flowers beneath that velvet starry sky. She learned he was deeply involved in plans and negotiations for another venture, this time captaining a ship of his own across the great sea to Middle-earth. The distance and expense generally meant an absence of a year or two at least. His father had not yet agreed to the project, but his determined ally and grandfather Vëantur had already secured sufficient financial backing.

“Of course, you never heard me say that!” he said, laughing at himself.

He went on to explain that the usual delays related to such matters would permit them time for several more walks and “a number of stolen kisses” before his departure date.

He proceeded to surprise her by stealing one on the spot. He tasted of after-dinner mint—a sure sign of prior intent. He felt warm and present, not cautious about pulling her against his chest and holding her there with his strong arms. She responded immediately. She did not for a moment consider pretending to be coy or shy. All of her life she had scornfully listened to girls, who plotted how to present themselves to men, determined that she would never do that. If she wanted to, she would kiss him back and she wanted to.

But, despite that small bit of rebellion, she realized that all of her fine principles of independence and self-determination had been overturned by this large, handsome man’s confident kiss.  She could tell herself that she kissed the man and not the prince, but she knew that was a dishonest argument, as delusory as his self-deception that he could be first a mariner and engineer, and only secondly heir to the throne.

The days turned into weeks and she saw Aldarion almost daily. If he did not call on her at home, she encountered him at court. He cataloged for her with enthusiasm the progress of his preparations which would take him away from her.

Nothing in her limited experience could have equipped her to imagine that spending time with him would be anything like the reality. His intelligence, fortified by learning and humor, made him a delightful companion. In those first swiftly running days, she thought of him as perfect, so tall and handsomer than even most of the Elven sailors she had espied during her childhood.

The physical attraction carried with it an element of obsession. She took an inordinate pleasure in his sculpted cheekbones and periwinkle blue eyes, nearly violet. His profile was that of a fairy story hero, his nose neither too long nor too short, high cheekbones, strong chin, his hair not simply blond, but golden, full of light and multiple nuances of color. When she caught herself, she thought of how a few short months ago such behavior would have seemed revolting to her. She called herself a lovesick fool. But it did not take her long, inexperienced as she was, to realize that the sexual awakening fed the mental disorder. She thanked the Valar that he confined his physical lovemaking to intense sessions of kissing at the end of an evening together. It was unlikely she could have resisted if he had pressed for more.

She only learned much later in their relationship that his infuriating awareness of how attractive she found him and how inexperienced she was, enabled him to prevent her from seeing beneath his swagger to comprehend how much she had in turn affected him.

“So this is good bye,” he had said to her that last night. “I cannot ask you to wait for me. I will not ask that." She had trouble looking into his eyes, determine not to cry. He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up. "Are you listening? I am serious. You are too young and beautiful and I am too . . . too unsettled. I will hope though. More than I can say, I will hope to find you as you are when I return. Forgive me. It’s unfair and selfish of me to say that!”

Swallowing hard, she placed her fingertips over his beautiful lips. “Hush. Please, be careful. Come back to us.”

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Few tiny details:

No long defense, but I am quite aware there is no account that their relationship started with that first meeting, merely that they noticed one another. There could have been more which didn't make it into the histories. ;)
Anardil is based in Quenya and means ‘devoted to the sun’; its familiar or diminutive form is Anardilya. (Tolkien is quite detailed here.)
Eruhantalë means 'thanksgiving to Eru’ in Quenya.