The Small and Secret Things by Dawn Felagund

Indiscretions

This one is for Elleth, for her birthday (for which I am on time for once … by my time anyway), who asked for "something starring Feanor, Nerdanel and some fluff, with a dash (ok, a bit more) of melancholy thrown in, but sans the kidlets." Happy birthday, Elleth!

In exactly 600 words, Nerdanel and Fëanor spend their first night together. Sounds provocative, eh? Let me know at the end. ;)

It had been a hard day of work in her father's workshops, and the warm comfort of her bed enticed Nerdanel. Just two days left, she thought. Two days left of sweeping away metal scraps, hauling fuel, working the bellows--grueling work fit for a forge assistant … or a disobedient daughter.

But it was not the thought of an end to her toils that made her smile. Just two days left … and I can see him again.

Her heart fluttered at the thought. Though she knew her exhaustion would drop her into sleep like thick, black tar, she nonetheless hoped to dream of him. Even if I awaken tired on the morrow. I miss him. The true punishment--and surely my father knows this--has not been the labor but the denial of him. Of Fëanáro.

For Nerdanel, in her youthful, lovestruck foolishness, had left her chores one day to idle instead in the meadow with Fëanáro. There, they'd been found by her red-faced, silent father, who had said little of her irresponsibility and less of the indiscretions in which he'd found them engaging. Her punishment had expressed his distress as words could not, for Nerdanel, in her forty years as the youngest daughter of Mahtan, had never before been punished.

She slept, and she dreamt of him. She saw him in the sprawling palace with his father, wearing finery and drinking wine that made his lips very red (and sweet to taste, she imagined). She would never tire of hearing his voice. But the King … Finwë was letting handfuls of gravel drop over and over again to the glass tabletop. She was having trouble hearing Fëanáro's words, and as the rattling increased, her image of him began to fade as well.

No!

She jerked awake at the sound of stones on glass. It was not a dream.

It was coming from her window.

She flew to the window as another handful of pebbles clattered against it. There he stood below, bold in the Treelight, wearing a plain tunic open at the throat and dusty breeches, barefoot, with his eyes bright in the near dark. Beautiful.

She opened the sash and gestured for him to be quiet. Her parents slept in the room next door, oblivious. Already, he was fitting his bare feet to the stones that made up the side of the house, climbing with the steady, fearless ease of a chameleon scampering up the patio wall. When his fingers curled over the sill, she made to scold him for his impertinence, for risking another week's punishment, but he did not allow her the chance. He kissed her open mouth, and she responded with such fervor that they both nearly toppled from the window.

"I have thought of nothing but you," he said. "Nothing. I cannot bear a moment more away from you."

By the dark skin beneath his eyes, she saw that he had not slept; by the dirt on his tunic, she saw that he had not washed. He swung his legs over the windowsill. "Just a moment, and I will leave again. I needed to see you. Just for a moment."

But he was swaying on his feet, bleary eyes unfocused, and he did not resist when she led him to her bed. What we did in the meadow, this is ten times worse, she thought. Yet she smiled at the thought as she pulled her quilt to his chin. A handsome prince in my bed with thoughts only for me, and what do I tell him to do?

Whispering, "Sleep, my love."

Chapter End Notes

Today's Word:

commination kom-uh-NAY-shuhn, noun:

1. A denunciation.
2. A threat of punishment.

Commination is derived from Latin comminatio, commination-, from comminari, "to threaten," from com-, intensive prefix + minari, "to threaten."