I've Hungered for Your Touch by oshun

---

The Beginning of the End

---

“Would you like to go for a walk?” His voice sounded eager. I thought that if the light were not so dim I might see him blushing again.

“I’d love to.”

In fact, I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more than to have him to myself for a while.

He stopped at a group of his men clearing up the food tables and packaging up leftovers, although there were not a lot, and giving them to families with children as they left. Caranthir picked up a small lantern and asked the soldier in charge, “Can you spare this one?”

The soldier bowed deeply to his lord, as they all were wont to do. “Of course, sire,” he said, winking. “I would not be much of a knight if I would begrudge my most gracious liege-lord a light to walk his lady-friend home.”

“Why do I always feel like they are laughing at me?” he muttered under his breath. I do not think he expected an answer.

But two contradictory feelings forced me to reply. Why was he so filled with self-doubt when he was manifestly gifted as an individual and also their sworn lord, freely chosen and much admired? Something had broken in him at an early age or perhaps it was fate. The Noldor blamed a lot of things on ill-fate, the ordinary tragedies of daily life.

I wished I could help him heal himself. Now there is the ill-fate that comes with being a woman. That infernal impulse to mend everyone. That time, I laughed at him. It was as though I thought I could communicate to him—‘see I’m laughing at you. And I am obviously madly, crazy in love with you.’

Then I tried to soften my possibly hurtful laugh by using reason. “They are not laughing at you. They are showing you that they love and trust you and are comfortable in your presence. My people do that to me also and I consider it an honor.” He cocked an eyebrow at me as though he believed that was a highly unlikely reading of the situation.

We had reached the outside of the circle of lingering glow from what remained of the bonfire. “If you’re cold I could run back and borrow that blanket again.”

“I’ll be fine once we start walking.” I was sure, given the length of his legs, I’d have to scamper to keep up. He reached down and took my hand. I had spent entire evenings making love without ever feeling anything as thrilling as that light touch. But I tried to not act like a love-starved lad in his teens.

I felt smug also, walking along like that holding his hand. I do admit to having had twinges of jealousy watching one or another of my shield-sisters walk home from a gathering with a young man, hand-in-hand, looking not entirely dissimilar to way we must have appeared to an observer that night—lost in one another, speaking softly, brimming over with not yet acknowledged lust.

Holding the lantern up to light to path than ran through the forest in the direction of the stockade, Caranthir slowly led us to the opening onto the field where the Noldor had pitched their encampment. He had moderated his stride to match my own.

“I have something to share with you.”

“A surprise?” I asked.

“Well, maybe. It ought not be. I wanted to offer you some more of the liquor you tasted before and were not sure you liked.”

“And where is it?”

“Uhm. In my tent, but I can fetch it. If you’d rather not come in.”

I stopped where I stood. “Why in the world would I not want to come in?”

“People might talk?”

“And then, again, they might not.” I laughed to hide my nervousness. “I am beholden to no one. I am a grown woman.”

He sat the lantern carefully on the ground and took hold of both of my arms above the elbow. He looked at my mouth for an attenuated moment, his breathing growing shallower, before he asked, “May I kiss you?”

“If you do not, I just might strangle you.” I could see in his face that he wanted to kiss me more than he wanted to laugh. Still, I was surprised at how quickly he acted. Before that kiss, I had thought that he might be unpracticed at lovemaking, strange as that might seem. I had heard earlier that the Noldor had very strict prescriptions of what was permitted and taboo in terms of the pleasures of the flesh. He could not be wholly inexperienced to be able to kiss like that.

I could smell the warm, woody fragrance of his soap in his hair, which fell like a curtain around us as we kissed. He was so much taller than me. I was happy that I had taken the time to wash my hair. Although our simple lavender-scented soap was not striking like his, I was confident that I smelled clean and fresh.

The kiss went on and on and drove away all of my silly ruminations. He started slowly at first. I had always liked first kisses—fully clothed, before one had made love with the person—the kind that ignites one with incendiary lust, but yet is filled with hope, magic, mystery, and expectation. This kiss was one of those, but more explosive—a sudden conflagration. His artistry brought me to his level of desire until I hoped it would go on forever and he’d somehow take me to a higher level. I was aware of the spicy warmth and dark sweetness of him. When he finally pulled back, I wondered if I had the strength to hold myself upright.

He whispered, “My neck is killing me and my knees are weak.”

Yeah,” I answered, thinking this would work even better in a horizontal position.

“I can see my tent from here,” the simple statement, like so many things about the last few days, became an invitation and promise of wondrous things. I opened my eyes and the moon nearly full, hidden all evening behind clouds, had suddenly revealed itself, so close and bright that it turned the entire landscape a bluish-silver, maybe a bit like the magic silver tree of the land of his childhood.

We finally did make it the several yards to his neat little tent with neither of our legs giving out. An experienced kisser and breathtaking tormentor while kissing, he was, however, wholly innocent of how to make love to a woman. But when he chose to do so, it was with a passion whole-hearted and pure. I became the center of his universe for that limited time and the headiness of his experience left us both wonder-struck.

He bravely led us, as though we were the first to discover and share these joys. He approached the art of love as both natural and magical all in one. I adored watching his face transform with pleasure, his eyes closed and lush scarlet lips parted. He stubbornly refused to allow himself to reach release until he was certain that I had done so more than once.

Afterwards, he cupped my face in his hands. “That was incredible for me. No matter what happens, I will never, never forget this.”

I didn’t mean to say anything, but it just slipped out. “I can’t stand to think that this has to end.”

“I didn’t mean to make your life harder or more complicated. Should we have discussed doing this first? I’m not good at talking when I should.”

“Shhh,” I said, touching my finger to his lips. He surprised me by licking the tip of my finger and grinning.

“Not sorry, though, not at all! I’ve never regretted anything less,” he almost crowed, proud of himself.

“I’d hate you if you did regret it!” I said, punching him hard on the upper arm. “I’d be insulted. Probably have had to challenge you to defend my own honor!” He laughed aloud at that idea. It wasn’t nearly as funny as he thought it was, but I was too languid in the aftermath of lovemaking to even be irritated.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to defend any honor with me. I am totally besotted by you,” he said smiling, one of those irresistible smiles of his, the ones filled with the shadow of all my impossible hopes and dreams.

We both knew the truth behind it. There was no future. Duty and honor would lead us apart. We knew that--all strange fates had been considered and tossed aside without discussion--the happily-ever-after would never be for us. Yet the ephemeral quality of ‘us’ increased rather than diminished the sweetness of each moment together.

In later years, I wished at times that there had been a man among my people somewhat like him. I wouldn’t have needed him to be as ridiculously pretty or shockingly intelligent, or able to read my thoughts like Caranthir. If only I’d encountered one who could listen like he did, someone who could pause and consider before offering an opinion. That would have been wonderful.

But I wanted Caranthir. I could even have handled his moodiness and his purported flashes of temper (from my observation, greatly exaggerated by the gossips). Was it too much to ask that I might have met someone among my people who smiled the way Caranthir did when I bested him in an argument, as though he were pleased by my cleverness? I did not look and that fellow never found me.

But we still had weeks then. He made me happy. I felt cared for and cherished. And every day my heart broke a little more. Those were busy days. We had so much to do and so much to argue about. But we parted as tearful lovers and best friends.

Caranthir found my people a few more times, after we had returned to our separate lives. Each time he left, it felt a little more final. After the latest move of my people, he could no longer follow us. As for me, like the fellow in song, I've had many long, lonely nights and I've hungered for his touch.