A Summer's Ball by Elleth

Chapter 1

The bodies of the dancers across the green whirled aside. A momentary path formed over the lawn to the thrones, set side by side on the terrace under a cluster of young cherry trees abloom outside their season with a touch by the lady Vána herself - at least that had been the rumor circulating among the guests with much suggestive tittering and laughter about her dancing for - and with - Queen Míriel.

Indis thought it a little aggravating to that something as blessed - for whatever the price had been for them, the trees seemed glad to bloom, and their flowers lay snowy and rich on the branches among the hard, still bright-green cherries of early summer - was reduced to a subject of indelicate gossip, but it was hard to let it slip her mind when, at that moment, she was finding herself as the recipient of the Queen's attention. Whenever she would turn and find an axis of sight to the thrones, Míriel's dark eyes were watching her from under a shock of silver hair.

They had lit on her from the first Indis had set foot into the garden as one of the guests of honour. Her uncle was in close friendship with Finwë and she had known him since the days of her youth, and Ingwë and Ilwë had insisted that she must come with them alongside Ingwion and Ingil, a daughter as she nearly was to them. That she was closer in age to Ingwë and his wife than to their children mattered little to any of them.

She had known Finwë from before and they exchanged quick pleasantries, but she was dry-mouthed and nervous as she made her introduction to Míriel, stumbling over the phrases of greeting as though she were a young girl, rather than a woman who had left her youth behind her hunting on the plains north of Cuiviénen, and who had loved and lost before the coming of Oromë. What made matters worse was that she had heard all about Míriel from the first stories about the strange, slight, starlight-haired girl of the Tatyar with the dark eyes who swayed Finwë into turning his suit to her and her unfailing rejections, until the Blessed Realm saw Míriel come in his pursuit.

Rumors of her skill and beauty did aught to keep Indis listening for every scrap of news. She had not expected - or not admitted to herself before meeting her in the flesh - that it had made Míriel into a strangely alluring figure. None of it, she found, standing opposite Míriel in person for the first time, was exaggerated. Even then during the ball she held a shimmering red cloth for a dress in her lap, and her fingers were moving without her conscious attention as the flash of a needle stitched silver licks of fire into the chest-piece even while she greeted her guests and thanked them for their coming in a low, quick voice that clipped carefully over bright white teeth and out through the narrow bow of her lips.

Míriel's eyes - not dark like coal, and rather as the colour of a nightly cloud backlit faintly by stars - never left Indis. There was a spark of something sharp in them, starlight piercing through, perhaps, and an unashamed interest that made Finwë chuckle softly when he noticed. "Have a care, Lady Indis," he said under his breath so that the rest of her family mercifully could not hear his words above the music, having waved Indis toward him. "My Queen has taken notice of you."

Heat flooded Indis' face, and she berated herself for it - it was not courteous, even though Finwë and Míriel followed the peculiar customs that some Noldor lived by; as their King and Queen they seemed able to allow themselves differing partners without reproach beyond the gossip. Finwë, seeing her face, only laughed and squeezed Míriel's hand. She gave him a brief, bright smile before her eyes returned to Indis. So far, she had said nothing other than the customary greetings, but her rapt attention spoke volumes.

Indis extricated herself as soon as she could, looking for a distraction but feeling oddly reluctant to stray far and mingle with the guests. Ingwë had insinuated that she she should look for a husband now that they were settled - someone advantageous and friendly, she'd need not love him, he'd added quickly, while Ilwë gave him an ungentle nudge, and he caught Indis' glare. She had no intention of following that wish, although many would have flocked to her had she asked, for a chance to marry into the High King's family.

Her cousins seemed similarly disinclined to begin courtship. Both vanished into the crowd with little ceremony after their introduction. Indis lingered near the thrones and picked cherry petals from her hair, half-heartedly listening to Ingwë and Finwë exchanging particulars about the Minyarin settlements that were being built on Taniquetil for their expanding community. She could hear Ingil's laughter from the crowd; she was as much a warrior as any of the Vanyar, and the grace required with the spear translated well to dancing. Ingil took a flippant joy in it, while Ingwion seemed to have vanished - he was more solitary than his sister, and had perhaps used the opportunity to steal into the palace and to the library.

Indis briefly considered joining him - surely it would be cooler inside the buildings, and the music would be a distant, pleasant thrum to accompany her readings, but once more there was the now-familiar prick of Míriel's eyes on her, almost a caress to her shoulders and down her spine, bare to anyone's gaze except for a ripple of golden tulle that served as a summer cloak, and Indis did not think it was the simple craftsmanship of her dress that the Broideress was admiring.

She turned, caught Míriel's eye and gave her a questioning look. If Míriel truly wanted her, she would need to make herself understood more clearly, so that Indis might consider it - as it was, even that seemed improper, although she could imagine, easily, slipping her fingers into the loose silver hair and holding fast to meet her lips, to -

- turn and walk briskly into the crowd until she was hidden in a tangle of Noldor who rivalled her in height, knowing that the brush along the edges of her mind had been the Queen. Indis had not closed her thoughts because she had not considered that even bold Míriel might be so forward as to pry. She thought she heard soft laughter behind her, and it shot a flare through her - shame, and a shock of warmth tightening in her stomach.

And it left her wondering - what did Míriel expect her to do? Even if she meant to, she could not openly reciprocate, at least not as long as guests were milling around the garden, certainly not in the way that Míriel seemed to wish for. She would have to preside over the feast for its duration, unless she meant to insult her guests by absconding. It was something of a relief that Míriel was, at least, limited in her actions for the time being.

Still, Indis knew better now what Míriel could nonetheless do, and kept her mind resolutely closed while she mingled with the other party-goers, seeking at least to appreciate the atmosphere of the palace garden. Míriel's attention on her waned sometimes, Indis thought, or else she was not in a place where Míriel's unnerving stare could come to rest on her. She sipped sweet, iced wine prickling against her lips, and stayed in the shade of fragrant trees at the edge of the garden that Ilwë had planted there when the Vanyar had still dwelled in Tirion, and went with her aunt to inspect the herb beds in its center where she had set both seeds and soil from across the sea before the Vanyar had removed from Tirion, before Finwë's marriage. The smell of the wet soil came to Indis with a pang, a piercing ache. The last she remembered it so clearly was when she had cast herself upon the ground and wept after - no.

She banished the thought of her lover and turned briskly away, finding, once again, Míriel watching her, but this time she had risen from the throne in what seemed either interest or alarm. How she should know - Indis could not say, unless she had let her guard slip and her mind open without her knowledge, and when she turned away, she saw, from the corner of her eye, Míriel taking her place on the throne again, reluctantly.

Indis brushed the crumbs of earth off her fingers and returned to mingling, more and more mindless while the hours drew on and the pitchers of wine were depleted and replaced one after the other, with only Míriel's unwearying attention for a companion, then merely curious, then intrigued, then near predatory, the gaze of a hunter with terrible endurance, when Indis discreetly wiped sweat from the back of her neck and willed down the slight thrum of the wine. She had been careful to imbibe, certainly more so than most other guests, but it did not make her immune to the effect.

Indis pitied the servants, who began looking as exhausted as she felt. To throw Míriel's attention from her, she danced with a stranger, a Noldorin lord whose name she forgot almost as soon as the song concluded, and the Queen's single-minded pursuit caught up with her once again, broken only when her attention was commanded by guests who approached the royal couple presiding over the ball.

In those moments, after being hounded by it the entirety of the day, Indis momentarily found herself at a loss. It gave her time to think, gave her time to consider how far beyond propriety Míriel's obsession with her was - and to her shame, it set her heart beating out a burst of speed against her ribcage, unsure whether she should consider the astounding focus an act of flattery, or flee Tirion and someone who, once she had her might either never relinquish her again, or sate her curiosity and return to her sewing.

She liked neither thought very much, and Míriel's near-unwavering attention seemed to allow nothing else outside the two possibilities. Then Míriel's keen eyes returned and drove those thoughts from her mind - ever further toward retribution, at the very least gratification for the afternoon she had had to spend eluding Míriel, until the guests began to dissipate and the end of the ball was imminent. The music slowed into quieter, mellower tones. It was past the mingling; the light through the Calacirya was dimming and silvering as Laurelin waned - and Míriel looked resplendent in it, more so than in gold, Indis could not help but notice when she dared a glimpse of the terrace. Míriel met her eyes at once and lifted a delicate hand, waving her closer.

Swallowing past the sudden tightness in her throat, Indis approached, and finally knelt on the lowest step leading to the terrace. She was dimly aware of a rustle of cloth as Finwë rose and walked into the garden to farewell the remaining guests; now that the revel was over it seemed less improper, and for her part she was grateful for the modicum of privacy it afforded her.

"Rise," Míriel said. Her voice kept the same measured, clipped tone to it, but it was more mellifluous now, and absurdly, Indis felt her heartbeat pick up. "Come here."

"My Queen?" She bit her tongue and did as bidden. Míriel was not her queen at all - she was of the Vanyar, she would outrank Míriel by birthright if her mother had not refused the westward road and Ingwë had taken the command of her as the eldest of the House of Iminyë before she, too, had been pushed into obscurity in the history books.

Míriel knew all this, and smiled, reaching out a hand that Indis, her conviction having flown, took and kissed. And then Míriel was in front of her, and Indis could not find it in herself to reject the offer when Míriel lightly kissed her on the lips.

Absurdly - or perhaps not so at all - Indis remembered hunting: A doe would elude the hunter only so long before it tired, before the heat building within it became unbearable. It was the fundamental principle of the hunter, one that she had learned before her hands had ever grasped a spear in her mother's hut, before Ingwë had ever taught her the movements she would need to know to throw it.

Against endurance, even strength and speed must yield - and at some point, perhaps from the beginning of the ball, Indis had found herself becoming the doe, and Míriel coming in pursuit unwearingly.

Yielding was sweet. The world and the past and her griefs fell away when she allowed herself to kiss Míriel back. In her loneliness she had almost forgotten how sweet it could be.

Míriel's lips tasted of wine and were soft against Indis' own. She arched up on her throne and brought their bodies flush into contact; almost without thought Indis' arms went around her, supporting Míriel's slight frame until the breath went out of her in the kiss, warm against Indis' face.

"Come," Míriel breathed, leaning in to nuzzle down Indis' neck. "Let us not stay here - my rooms are inside, it will be more... comfortable."

Laughter escaped Indis' lips as she found herself pulled along unceremoniously toward the open arch across the terrace and through corridors into Míriel's private quarters. The doors closed behind her, and Indis found herself spinning Míriel against the wood to kiss her again, teeth nipping into her lips, grazing against the column of her throat that was swallowing down breaths and moans alike, until Míriel's fingers drew taut on Indis' shoulders and she pushed her down irreverently until Indis knelt on the cool floor, looking up at her.

"Have you -" Míriel gasped when Indis hitched the cloth of her dress up over her legs, lowered her head to kiss the inside of Míriel's knee, and laughed to feel the twitch of muscles in response under Míriel's skin. " - done this before? But I think yes… yes, the answer to it must be yes," Míriel stuttered when Indis hooked the leg over her shoulder, to allow her easier access to Míriel's pale thighs.

"Yes," Indis said, relishing the faint taste of salt - not sweat only - on their inside as she kissed upward. "Or I would not be here now, had you pursued me for one day or a hundred, my Queen," she murmured. "And as you did with me, I shall drive you to desperation before I bring you gratification. It is only fair that you should pay as I have for this."

"Oh - yes." Míriel's fingers tightened reflexively in Indis' hair and pushed her home, shuddering deliciously when Indis gave a first tentative, teasing lick.