Sisters Such As Us by Elleth

Chapter 1

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Anairë's cares fell by the wayside as she travelled.

Tirion shrunk in Calacirya behind her. From then on, it was only the sea ahead of her, a shining expanse of blue-green where the light of Telperion fanned out and tipped the waves silver.

Her heart beat high in her throat. Alqualondë was hidden from her sight in and below the coastal cliffs yet, but she had read all about the city that she had been able to glean from Tirion's libraries, and even quizzed some of the Teleri who came into Tirion for business. It was perhaps not necessary, and her mother tutted about distractions from their work, but Anairë relished the chance to escape from her dull routine and the Noldorin court fashions that took shape under her scissors and needles.

But she must have been doing something right. The wife and daughters of Olwë had extended their personal invitation to her soon after she had dressed Princess Findis in layers of draped silk after Telerin fashion for a royal visit of the two houses, if in Vanyarin gold and lace. They had put forward the offer to learn more about Telerin clothing to further her craft at their court, and she hadn't had the heart to refuse, despite all her mother's continued disapproval.

Her mother, also, had been the one who warned her not to lose her heart to the sea - or by it, after catching her with a portrait of princess Eärwen radiant and decked in pearls in celebration of her coming-of-age in one of the books. Surely, she'd said to her mother, the artist had exaggerated; idealization was as common as breathing in art. Surely the princess could not be as beautiful as she looked in the portrait Anairë copied from the book, letting her stick of chalk repeat the lines of her face into her sketchbook.

She had no intent to let anything distract her. A keen appreciation of beauty was the hallmark of any good craftswoman, anybody would agree. Nerdanel, when they took tea together after a fitting, certainly did, laughing into her drink with her eyes crinkling at the corners.

*

The tiles of Alqualondë's throne room were inlaid with swan feathers in white crystal and mother-of-pearl. Anairë studied the graceful patterns intently to hide her flaming face. She had misjudged, and the graceful hand tipping her chin up sent more heat into her cheeks, the little caress of the delicate thumb along her jawbone sent it throughout her body.

She could not look up again. One meeting of silver eyes finding hers across the room, and she had been lost, drowning where Eärwen swam down alongside her.

"Please, rise," Eärwen said. "You did not come here as a supplicant, you came to study, did you not? Or is kneeling common for your people?"

Anairë rose as if an unseen hand had pulled her to her feet. She tried her best to appear inconspicuous in how she hunched her shoulders and bent her knees, but even so she could not help towering over Eärwen by a head. Eärwen stood, a hand on her jutting hip, the curve of it still visible through the material of her dress.

Anairë's mouth went dry.

She murmured her pardons, and Eärwen nodded her head with swan-like grace. "I can tell that you must be awfully nervous. Come, walk with me. We can take some time to get to know one another in my chambers. The King and Queen are on an outing with my siblings; we did not expect you to arrive quite so soon. Ah, it will give us time to get acquainted before I introduce you to the rest of them. Come!"

An unspoken agreement passed between them. Eärwen did not wait, moving down a corridor from the throne room, shimmering like a wave in the light of the Trees.

Anairë had no choice but to follow.

*

"I should - " Anairë had brought out, when Eärwen's arms came up around her shoulder and pulled her down into a kiss. Leave. Eärwen had had food and drink brought to her chambers, and Anairë felt refreshed after her journey. Bright-eyed, Eärwen had flung wide the doors to her dressing room, also, allowed Anairë to inspect the dresses, materials and cuts, and even changed into some that Anairë professed admiration for, with little thought for modesty and entirely too sly glances over her shoulder.

Anairë wanted to stay, but propriety dictated the opposite.

The thought evaporated entirely when Eärwen teased her lips open, and Anairë followed her guidance breathlessly. Her mind was swimming, incredulous, and - oh. Eärwen had closed her eyes kissing her. Anairë followed suit. One needle-calloused hand slipped into Eärwen's silver hair, thinking how smooth a garment woven from it must be, hoping that her craftswoman's hands would not bother Eärwen. They continued kissing; Eärwen made an appreciative noise when Anairë's hands tightened, slipping bruised lips from mouth to jaw to ear, to her throat, pushing Anairë against the wooden doors they had closed behind them. Sea glass that was inlaid into the silvery driftwood pressed into Anairë's back.

"Wait -" Anairë managed, reluctantly. "I -" she couldn't say what her objection was when Eärwen tugged on a lace around her throat and unclasped the sheer drapery that hid so very little of her, baring herself entirely. Anairë's hands curled at her side, with the desire to touch, both the clothing that now lay rumpled on the floor, sea-green byssus - mussel silk that Anairë had never worked with - and pearls, and the skin underneath, the soft curve of Eärwen's breasts, the pink nipples, the slight swell of her stomach, her thighs, the silver hair between them.

She had never felt this way, and Eärwen's mouth now at the neckline of her dress drove any thoughts from her head. She followed Eärwen's insistent tugging to the bed, her eyes on the drape of pearls clasped around her slender neck, jewelry that she hadn't yet removed, falling in a curve over her spine and the dimples above her buttocks, swaying as a caress each barefoot step across the room.

She wanted. And followed, again, despite the nervousness roiling in her stomach, falling into bedsheets that were soft as sea-froth, and Eärwen's hands divesting her of her dress so she could feel it against her skin.

* * *

Anairë barely counted the years of bliss that slipped by, travelling between Tirion and Alqualondë, furthering her ties, making love to Eärwen on, it seemed, every step from sea to city. Her nervousness had long-since passed, and Eärwen had left not a single doubt how desirable she found Anairë. Helped by Eärwen, Anairë continued to work for the palace, soon rising from one of the royal couturiers to the only one. They had met in clandestine councils, too, with Nolofinwë, who harboured a secret of his own, and soon after announced one betrothal in mutual understanding and gratitude.

Anairë had not missed the glances that Eärwen had levelled at the high table during the betrothal festivities - not hurt or angry, but certainly calculating… something that would not reveal itself to her until Nolofinwë called another council, and this time Anairë was surprised to find Eärwen seated next to none other than Arafinwë.

Things progressed as they must. Back in Anairë's quarters in the palace, after, when Anairë was still breathless from exhaustion and teetering on the edge of sleep, Eärwen sat up in their bed suddenly.

"... and we shall be sisters, truly! Would that not be exciting?" Eärwen lifted Anairë's ring-adorned hand to her mouth, sliding her lips over the silver band. The blanket that had hidden her nakedness slipped from her shoulder and pooled around her waist. "Then - even if not by blood - the world shall know that we are one family, and all beloved! We must be clandestine, of course, but they shall never have seen sisters such as us."

Anairë rose, leaning in, barely containing her laughter. "You drive me to desperation," she murmured fondly into the spill of silver hair over Eärwen's freckled shoulder and down onto her breast, nipping at the soft skin. "But how could I find it in me to object? You always wash away my reservations, and I would have it no other way. And sisters - it is the closest we can be, is it not?"

"It is… as acknowledgment of history can have us, even if it will never acknowledge this," Eärwen answered, drawing Anairë's hand down into scatter of silver hair between her thighs to punctuate her words.

Anairë's fingers curled into her familiar warmth of their own accord, finding her skin still stained slick from their lovemaking a little before, and she brushed the smooth silver of her betrothal ring over Eärwen's clit, delighting in the gasp that she coaxed from Eärwen, still sensitive and warming under her hands to the new attention.

Eärwen's eyes fluttered shut, silver lashes catching the glint of gold through the drapes as she let herself fall into the pillows, reaching for Anairë. "Beloved sister," she said with a sweet, breathless laugh, her hips moving with the touches, "and when I wear Arafinwë's ring, I shall revisit this upon you twelve-fold."

"I can hardly wait." Anairë repeated the motion, kissing Eärwen hungrily to swallow down her moans.