The Price of
Dreams
By Talullah Red
Contact Email: talullahred@gmail.com
Beta Name: Many thanks to Malinornë. All remaining mistakes are
mine.
Main Characters: Írissë/Vanyacar, Varyamo
Rating: R
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 7918
Summary: Vanyacar wishes for that which he cannot truly have.
Original Request: Vanyacar/Írissë; romance, drama, angst, smut; please
do not include pwp, rape, incest.
Note: Given the timeline, it didn't make
any sense to use the Sindarin for of the characters' names, which meant
that I would have to find a solution for Vanyacar and Varyamo. For this
end I resorted to Quenya Lapseparma (http://www.elvish.org/elm/names.html)
and the Council of Elrond (http://www.councilofelrond.com/).
I also present a list of the Sindarin/Quenya name correspondence for the
other characters for those who may not recall them clearly.
Glorfindel = Vanyacar (fair head)
Ecthelion = Varyamo (protector)
Aredhel = Írissë
Fingolfin = Nolofinwë
Fëanor = Fëanáro
Turgon = Turukáno
Galadriel = Artanis
Celegorm = Turkafinwë
Finarfin = Arafinwë
Shores of Aman, 1495 Valian Years of
the Trees
Varyamo came running from the sea
scattering icy drops all around him and transpiring energy and an
endearing alacrity from every one of his pores. The water had been too
cold for Vanyacar's taste, but despite his protests, he enjoyed the
temporary respite from Laurelin's blazing heat on his skin. Letting a
happy sigh off his chest, Varyamo dropped to his friend's side.
"You're brooding again," he
stated, turning to his side on the warm sand to rest his head on the
heel of his hand.
"I'm not brooding."
"Are too," came the swift
reply.
A hint of a smile twitched on Vanyacar's
lips for a moment but he didn't pursue the game. They were not children
any more, and though Varyamo's intention was good, he really didn't feel
like being cheered up now. The moment passed and both sighed, for their
own reasons. Vanyacar covered his eyes with his other forearm. He just
knew that before the mingling of the Lights he'd look like a boiled
lobster while Varyamo would only have acquired one more layer of healthy
tan. Nothing to do about that.
"Well, aren't you going to tell
me?" Varyamo insisted.
"No."
Varyamo gave his best condescending
sigh. "Well, you don't have to. Like the rest of Valinor I already
know what ails you. I just wanted to know the specifics of today."
Vanyacar dropped his hand squinting
fiercely against Laurelin's rays. "She's going off hunting again
with him, right after Yavanna's festival."
Varyamo issued a short bark. Coming from
anyone else Vanyacar would have immediately assumed derision, but
Varyamo was his friend, a third cousin that was more of a brother. What
Vanyacar heard was contempt and impatience mixed in equal parts.
Varyamo's following tirade left no doubt to be had.
"I told you once and again that
Írissë is no match for you. Even if you were of the same age, even if
she preferred your lute playing to Turkafinwë's idiotic hunts, and even
if she didn't have her nose stuck so far up her snatch that she could
see you for more than a cute toy, she wouldn't be right for you.
Írissë has a bad heart, cousin. All she has is a big pair of hooters
that have thoroughly blinded you. If you have to like older women why
can't you at least take an interest for Artanis?"
Vanyacar squinted harder as Varyamo
rambled on. He tried to endure it as he had the other times Varyamo had
gone down that road, but today his cousin was pressing harder, using
uglier words and Írissë's laughter had been so cool as she had
dismissed him, and Turkafinwë's snide smile had been more unbearable.
"SHUT UP!" Vanyacar hadn't
realised he had been holding his breath until he had shouted, sitting up
in the sand. He glared down at Varyamo who, despite his surprise had a
reply in line already, but before his cousin had a chance to speak
Vanyacar unleashed a torrent of bitter words as he scrambled to his
feet.
"Who gives you the right to
criticise Írissë or to criticise me for wanting her? I used to think
you were trying to be my friend but I am starting to suspect that your
only motives are pure envy because you don't have the balls, the looks
or the social position to even dream of one day aspiring to someone like
her. You're just spiteful, and you'll be even more the day I prove you
all wrong and win her." Vanyacar stood trembling slightly in the
afternoon's overheated air.
Varyamo slowly rose to his feet,
straightening his back to stand to his full height, a good two inches
less than Vanyacar but almost regal in his dignified bearing. Vanyacar
unwittingly stepped back as their hate-filled eyes crossed. His jaw was
so tightly set that it barely moved when he spoke.
"You'll live to regret those words,
friend."
A quick downward movement and Varyamo
had his shirt in his hand and walked away. Vanyacar clenched his fists,
forcing himself not to chase Varyamo down and force him to swallow his
words. It would not do to brawl with the likes of him. But as soon as
Varyamo was over the dune and out of sight, Vanyacar started kicking the
sand in angry silence, his teeth gritted so hard his cheekbones ached. A
low growl started somewhere above his stomach, ascending to his throat,
knotting, choking until it broke out of him in an angry torrent of
obscenities that spared no one, not even his beloved Írissë, who in
that moment earned her share of hate too.
Then he dropped exhausted to the sand,
too tired to do more than blink. Telperion's cold, silver hues waxed and
waned in the deserted shore before Vanyacar found the will to rise, put
his shirt on and thread back home toward the blinding light of the
Calacirya.
~~~~~~
The day of the festival came swiftly.
Vanyacar had little free time and was too busy with chores until the
last day, but he gave his friend a thought while he bathed and prepared
himself to appear in court looking like a nobleman's son instead of a
peasant.
His parents, only distantly related to
royalty, lived in their farm just outside the limits of Tirion. His
father, half-Vanya and distantly related to Finwë's house thanks to the
ill-advised marriage of one of Írimë's sons to a cousin on his
mother's side, liked to cultivate the notion that their station in life
was higher than it was in reality. Still, Nolofinwë cultivated the
notion that his palace should be open to all and Vanyacar's were invited
often enough, further igniting his father's social and political
aspirations. He actively encouraged Vanyacar's interest in Írissë,
reminding him again and again that they had land, wealth and relations
of enough importance for hin to seek the hand of the granddaughter of
the king. Vanyacar was heartened by his father's approbation, despite of
his shameless mercenary perspective being quite far from his sincere
affections. Father and son lived peacefully.
Vanyacar's mother, however, was Vanya
and had no wish to rise in the Noldo court. She had married for love,
against her parents' judgement but with their reluctant permission.
After three children and more time together than she cared to remember,
she had begun to suspect that the relative peace of her house was held
more by an effort of will than by any remains of love or respect her
marriage might still carry. Her family had much closer ties to Inwë
than her husband's would ever have with Finwë, and yet they asked not
for honours or distinction as her husband constantly did. Shouldering
the labour and the aggravation, she held the farm in tight reins,
scheduling the work, handling the help, taking care of the house,
raising the children. Her dowry, a small plot of rocky land at the edge
of town had grown into one of the wealthiest houses of the region, but
that was not enough for her husband, never enough. Still, she gritted
her teeth and scrubbed her children, dressed them in their finest and
let them accompany her husband to the parties in the high houses of
Tirion.
The familiar tension had finally bloomed
into a thundering silence when a very young Vanyacar had fallen for a
maid of tarnished reputation, as his mother liked to put it in a way
that spoke more of ill-disguised contempt than of true appreciation for
delicate language.
So now Vanyacar's family rode to Valinor
in the heavy silence that always followed their parents' arguments, this
time over his mother's tardiness, perceived as sabotage by his father.
His sister and brother-in-law let a healthy distance build between them
and their parents. Vanyacar and his younger brother, being single and
still under their parents' tutelage could not afford a similar reprieve.
They had just crossed the city's gates
when the lights started mingling. Then, instead of the waxing of
Laurelin's gold, darkness came. They spurred their mounts on, trying to
find someone in the empty streets who could answer their questions but
all were gathered in the main square, as was expected. When they finally
arrived there, chaos reigned. Families and young lovers, groups of
friends, Noldor, Vanyar, Teleri, all mingled in shared confusion and
fear. In the stands, in the place of honour, Nolofinwë and Fëanáro
talked in apparently relative peace. Around them messengers came and
went, searching for instructions from them and from the Valar.
Vanyacar's family waded through the crowd in the direction of the stands
but soon only he and his father remained together. They quickly found
their way to Nolofinwë and waited for acknowledgement and instructions.
From the corner of his eye, Vanyacar saw Írissë. Her countenance spoke
of courage and firmness but she seemed to be blinking more often than
usually. Vanyacar wished that he could forego protocol and join her
immediately, but that was impossible.
Soon Nolofinwë turned to them and
welcomed them. "We have little news, my friends, and there are
things that we cannot know for sure yet, not even the mighty Valar have
certainties at this point, but let there be no doubt that this is the
work of Melkor."
"What will you have us do, my
lord," Vanyacar's father asked.
"Nothing for the moment,"
Nolofinwë replied. Beside him, Fëanáro glared.
Father and son bowed and retreated to a
distance, waiting.Now that Vanyacar was free to go to Írissë, he
hesitated, however. He knew those blinks were for Turkafinwë, who had
not come with his father. Still, still... he mustered himself and went
to her to offer his support. Raising her eyes for the first time to him,
Írissë jumped up to embrace him.
"Oh, Vanyacar! You're here!"
Her relief at seeing him was patent and Vanyacar returned the embrace
with renewed hope.
"I was afraid something had
happened to you, you were so late..."
"My parents," Vanyacar
explained with a short sigh. Írissë herself was no stranger to family
tension and understood his situation.
"Yes, but thank Eru that you are
here safe. If only we could say the same of Turkafinwë..."
Vanyacar's heart sank for a moment, but
he swallowed his disappointment at her reply. "I'm sure he'll be
fine..."
~~~~~~
The awaited news came soon enough,
gathered by the Valar, delivered by Eonwë. The Trees were no more. Many
tales were written about what happened next. Vanyacar, for his part,
disliked them all for the heroic dimension people would lend to events
that had been more of a tragicomedy streak. Did they ever mentioned the
confusion, the fear, the great divide separating families right before
their eyes? Oh, he had stories, but to tell them he would have to relive
the time when he himself had been far from his finest. His excuse had
been youth and romanticism. Here was his chance to be Írissë's knight
in shining armour. That had meant walking into carnage, sword in hand
and butchering those who only tried to protect their livelihood. That
had meant waiting like a dog for more than a pat in the head from
Írissë. That had meant leaving Valinor without a word of blessing from
his mother. Even his father, Nolofinwë's liege to the end, had seen
their voluntary exodus as madness. And yet he had gone.
The long march north, the blood on his
hands... had there been any chance of forgiveness he would have gone
back. He had not known, he told himself. No one in Turukáno's host had.
The guilt was there, though, and perhaps those of Arafinwë's kin could
return to their old lives but the road back was closed to him. And
though it shamed him, he found something to live for beyond grief and
guilt. As hard as he had tried to deny it, both to himself and to
Varyamo, inside he had always know that Írissë saw him as a boy. Now,
for the first time, despite his bloody hands, she sought him out. He,
not Turkafinwë, not her father and not her brothers. In fact, she
seemed to have completely cut off Turkafinwë from her thoughts and
words.
On the long way north the mood of the
group oscillated between a falsely gay hope and the sombreness of guilt
and loss. Vanyacar and Írissë were no exception. They rode slowly,
following the ships along the coast and now as ever, Fëanáro and his
kept to themselves, communicating from the ships only when strictly
necessary. Vanyacar's dislike for them started to amount to a mild form
of hatred, despite a secret thankfulness for this apparent neglect.
And one day it happened. Cries roused
them from a short rest and the whole of Nolofinwë's host stood in the
coldest of darks watching orange flames in the distance. Betrayal was
clear and almost expected. Still some voices that dared suggesting hope
and other explanations. Silently, Írissë turned her face away from the
faint light and buried it in Vanyacar's shoulder.
~~~~~~
The crossing of the Grinding Ice was
hard and long. None of those who succeeded in it went unscathed; bonds
were broken and others forged, possessions were lost, as were and too
many loved ones. The cold was so intense that sleep was not possible,
and satisfying basic physiologic needs was nothing short of torture.
Personal hygiene and social rules disappeared, as did the food, much
quicker than their best estimates. Sheer survival became so central that
even the thoughts of revenge against Fëanáro diminished.
Vanyacar felt lost. 'What am I doing
here?' he would ask himself a dozen times a day. 'We should all be
home,' he would add, an incessant afterthought that would not vanish no
matter how often he repeated to himself that the way back was barred by
the words of Mandos. But then Írissë touched him, pulled him along by
the hand, leant on his shoulder... A sickening hope coiled in his
stomach. Could it be possible to begin again?
He saw Varyamo now and then in the
crowd. Since the day on the beach, they had not talked again. Too many
things going on, too much embarrassment and regret on both parts. Only
when Elenwë disappeared into the ice did they finally speak. First
their eyes crossed in mutual understanding over Turukáno's grieving
form. Írissë held on to Vanyacar tighter than ever, and he kept by her
side. Later, as they marched on, their paths converged.
"Madness," Varyamo grumbled.
"We're all mad."
"True. I didn't expected to see you
here," Vanyacar replied.
"We all have our motives. I see
that you've finally got what you wanted. I hope you're happy."
Vanyacar nodded. Had he? Írissë and he
had become close out of necessity but one day the road would end and
Turkafinwë would be on the other side. Would she forgive him? She had
always been too quick to do so. And what of him?
"I'm glad you're here,"
Vanyacar replied at last.
~~~~~~
Eventually all roads come to an end and
the desert of ice gave place first to barren, frozen soil, then to
meagre, coniferous woods. Food was scarcer than ever but the terrible
bite of deep cold was behind them and the spirits of the group started
to lift. The final push they needed was given by the rise of the moon in
her silvery glory. There was hope, they were not forgotten, heavy as
their curse lay on them. They celebrated, letting life run in their
veins once more, allowing themselves a brief moment of joy before
continuing the hard road. That night, for the first time, Írissë
kissed Vanyacar on the lips.
~~~~~~
They came to the margins of a lake, only
to sight from afar the kin who had left them to die. Harsh words were
said, but Nolofinwë wisely called out for peace. Their first tasks were
to arrange shelter and food. There were no strangers now in this crowd
of thousands. All worked together, slept huddled in improvised tents,
kept their rising tempers in check. Vanyacar now saw less of Írissë,
who stayed with her brothers and father, but more of Varyamo who was in
the same shelter as him. Amazingly, in a matter of a few months, the
shabby camp was turned into a semblance of a city.
Vanyacar was no stranger to hard work,
having been raised on a farm. Soon enough he had a house erected by the
labour of his own hands and of Varyamo's and a few other friends. In the
following days he would help them with theirs in turn, but on that first
evening the builders gathered around the brand new fireplace and ate
what little they had managed to hunt. Varyamo returned to his old tent
but some of the others huddled in the floor of the living room and spent
the night there, enjoying the first solid shelter in almost a year's
time. Vanyacar went to his room, which was cold and bare but his. His
cloak served as his blanket as it had so often in the past. In the
shelter of his room, the cold of Helcaraxë seemed almost distant and
for an instant he rued that the journey had come to an end and that he
rested now with empty arms, and Írissë was again so far from him.
~~~~~~
More than a month passed before Vanyacar
saw the floor of his living room cleared at night. Despite his worst
assumptions, Írissë did visit him. Nolofinwë procured his counsel as
a farmer's son and Vanyacar visited him in his improvised halls along
with others who knew how to work the land. The sat and talked for hours
of the possibilities and how the work should be organized and by the end
of the session, Írissë called him to the side for a word.
They conversed briefly about the state
of their affairs, sounding almost as strangers to one another and on an
impulse Vanyacar asked her to visit him. That very night Írissë came
by with a meagre bird she had managed to shoot in the woods as a gift.
Vanyacar's guests, Rog and Duilin, two brothers from a farm close to his
father's, offered to leave, but Írissë insisted that they stayed as
manners demanded. The evening was tense and full of awkward silences.
By the time Vanyacar saw Írissë again
he expected the awkwardness to return, but instead she seemed to be in a
particularly jovial mood and teased him about his guests. Upon hearing
that they had built their own home, she promised a second visit.
Vanyacar smiled, saying she would be welcomed but didn't let hope burn
too brightly.
~~~~~~
A week passed. Vanyacar often thought
about Írissë's promise, but laughed his dreams away with a bitter
snort. He worked from sunrise until the dead of the night and it was
often that visitors came at late hours, and so, when on another lonely
evening someone knocked on the door, his first thought was not that it
could finally be Írissë. Upon seeing her, he stumbled away from the
door, inviting her in.
"Írissë!" he said gleefully.
"Please do sit," he offered, showing her the impromptu
furniture with a gesture of his arm.
"Thank you," she said,
proffering a basket.
"A gift?"
"It is customary to give one to new
home owners, isn't it?" She winked.
Vanyacar smiled and lifted the napkin to
see what was inside.
"Dinner," she said with no
prompt. "I've heard that all you do nowadays is working so I bring
you food to keep you from falling from your feet."
Vanyacar grinned. "The news of my
starvation are highly exaggerated... but thank you. Now, let's
see..." He looked around but there was no table to offer. "I
hope you don't mind eating while sitting on the floor... that is,
assuming that you will stay for a while longer, of course."
Írissë smiled. "You still treat
me as something too delicate, even after the Helcaraxë..."
Despite her smile, Vanyacar heard a hint
of reproach and even disappointment in her words. "Not at all...
but you are the daughter of the king."
"And you know I prefer to eat a
rabbit I shot, cleaned and roasted myself sitting on the forest ground
than the finest venison in court. Not that we have venison these
days..." she added, bitterly referring to the quick depletion the
woods around Mithrim had seen with their arrival.
Vanyacar assented. "True."
They sat in silence, arranging
themselves and the food in the space between them. Vanyacar looked at
her surreptitiously, thinking about their exchange of words. In the
matter of a few months he felt he had grown, that he had finally stopped
being a boy under his father's wing and that he was now an adult. He
certainly had shouldered well his responsibilities and more. The cold
where a small mistake could mean death had taught him to repress the
impulsiveness of youth; the scarcity of food and shelter had taught him
to value abundance as he had never learned to; their darkest hour had
shown him the best and the worst of the people around him. Could it be
the same for Írissë? He looked at her wondering, seeing her and
himself under a new light. She had changed too, becoming quieter, but
not tamer.
He excused himself and went to the back
of the house to fetch water. Írissë's rabbits deserved a rich red wine
but they had carried nothing of the sort and even if they had had time
to plant the vineyards and make it, the climate was too harsh for grapes
here in the North. Standing by the doorjamb he looked at her again, the
paleness of her skin barely tinged by the colours of the shy fire that
lit his hearth. She looked older and fiercer as if she had lost layers
along the way. She was not the girl he had wanted to court in Valinor,
and he was not that boy, not any more. With a deep breath he returned to
her side.
"Here," he said, filling two
mugs. "The finest water from the western spring."
She took it in silence and thanked by
taking a long sip and emitting a sound of approval. "Fine water
indeed. Funny how we learn to appreciate the simpler things of life,
isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Vanyacar," she started
carefully. "I don't like lying. Not to you."
Vanyacar was tempted to speak and ease
her with kind words but a sudden thought of Varyamo's words and the way
the whole rendezvous had felt so deliberate stayed him. Írissë looked
pleadingly, but he merely encouraged her to go on with an upward twitch
of his eyebrow.
"I want you to be my lover."
Írissë had the modesty to blush and look away.
"Very romantic," Vanyacar
replied tersely. His most cherished dream had not come true in the
fashion he had imagined. "You don't want me to ask for your hand
but you want to try my bed before marriage. Or is it after too? So that
Turkafinwë can have the pleasure of running his sword through me?"
"No, of course not!" Írissë
drew back as if she had been slapped. "No one would know. How can
you think that I would want you to be in harm's way?"
"No one would know..."
Vanyacar said, rising slowly to his feet. He walked to the door and laid
a hand on the handle in a mute invitation for Írissë to leave. She
followed him quickly and stood in front of him, stubbornly ignoring the
door.
"Don't be like this, Vanyacar.
Please don't be like this."
Vanyacar took his eyes from his hand on
the handle. "A friend once told me I would ever be a toy to you. I
wouldn't believe him and I didn't until now. I thought we... I thought
you had learned to like me, though I'm not so foolish as to think you
would love me. I don't know what you want of me, but it's not what I
want... wanted from you."
Írissë touched his cheek pleadingly.
"It's really not as you think. Please close the door and hear me
out. Then you can ignore me or expel me or do as you wish."
Vanyacar's hand wavered on the door, but
in the end he closed it. Írissë's proposal, so clinical and cold, had
been a hard blow but he wanted desperately to believe that there was a
valid reason behind her request.
"It's true that I don't love
you," she said. "But I find you beautiful and honourable, I
admire your generous heart, your pragmatic mind, your steady character.
I could love you, and I want it so to happen. But this is not why I
invited myself to your bed."
Vanyacar took a deep breath and waited.
"Vanyacar, I am a virgin."
Írissë lowered her eyes, then faced
him with resolve. He stood there staring at her, unable to fathom what
her designs were.
"So?"
Írissë gave a bitter chuckle.
"You are the only person who could ask that, aren't you? Don't you
see that everybody else thinks that I gave myself to my cousin long ago?
Even my father. I haven't, and I don't want to... I want you to have me
first, before him. I could not stand being another conquest for him,
comparable to an excellent piece of game. And I would want to know about
love, or something like it before I am to be wed, since I will most
certainly not after."
"What you ask is against everything
that I believe in. You would not have me for a husband but you will have
me for your..." Vanyacar hesitated, swallowed hard, then found it
in himself to say it. "Whore. I won't be that." He opened the
door and waited for her to leave with his face turned away.
~~~~~~
Days passed. As much as he would have
wanted to, Vanyacar could not forget the incident. He had thought that
he had matured, that he could see the world with the eyes of an adult
but no, he still could be so easily bruised. He was distracted and
morose. Often Varyamo inquired so as what was wrong; other friends
showed concern too, but Vanyacar could not and would not repeat the
conversation with Írissë, could not even think of it without feeling a
such a pang in his chest that he lacked for air. The image of Írissë
standing in front of him with shimmering eyes and speaking of love and
the lack of it with such hopelessness kept returning to his mind. Had he
been harsh? Too prideful? No, bodies were not to be shared lightly, and
certainly not for curiosity's sake. But was Írissë curious in what
regarded love? She was not one for pleading and her armour was the
thickest Vanyacar had ever seen. Was there more to her words? But no,
that thought could not be harboured. Varyamo had been right. He would
ever be a toy, not a spouse. Still, when they caught sight of each other
and her eyes followed him, Vanyacar wondered again at the clenching in
his heart, and the sorrow in her face.
One evening, Vanyacar returned home to
find Írissë sitting on his doorstep.
"Good evening," he pushed out,
ostensibly holding the key. Hastily, she rose and gave way for him to
pass. As he struggled with the key, she calmly put her hand on his wrist
and squeezed gently.
"I am sorry. I never meant to hurt
your feelings. I meant it when I said I wished to keep your friendship
for always and I bitterly regret that I haven't."
Vanyacar took his eyes from the key and
looked at her. Her eyes were rimmed in red.
"Come in," he said, shaking
his head to himself, to his heart broken at the mere thought of her
suffering.
Írissë swiftly followed him inside.
"I wish I hadn't asked for what I
did. I never thought you'd feel like that. And it was all for naught as
my brother finally convinced my father that this was a terrible
idea."
"So I have no use for you now, is
that it?" The suddenness and intensity of Vanyacar's fury left him
almost light-headed.
"It's not like that!" Írissë
practically shouted. "Varda! I can never say the right thing, can
I? I wanted to know love with someone who actually has some to give and
I lost my best friend. I wanted to get my friend back and I offend him
more. What can I do for you to see that I lo-" she paused and
breathed. "That I love you dearly."
"Not enough to want me for your
husband, or even for your bed now that your virtue is not threatened to
be taken by a brute anymore." Vanyacar realized that he was
shouting and that they would probably be heard by passersby.
Írissë didn't seem to care as she
shouted back. "Is that what you want? Because if sleeping with you
is what it takes to get you back, then consider it done." She
furiously tore at the high neck of her dress, making a button pop and
scratching her own skin. With shaking hands she continued pulling but
Vanyacar closed the distance between them and held her wrists in a tight
grip.
"If we were ever to lie together it
wouldn't be for that." The anger was still in his voice but at
least it had returned to a normal level.
"I can't stand this," she
said. "Can't you see how much I like you?"
"But not love."
"Not as you would want me to, no.
Maybe if we... maybe if we had lain together my heart would have
changed."
Vanyacar let go of her wrists. "And
now you bait me."
Írissë framed his face with her hands
and drew closer. She parted her lips as if to speak, a small gasp
leaving her mouth but she remained quiet, simply drawing closer until
their lips touched. Unlike the almost innocent peck on the lips she had
given Vanyacar when the sun had first risen, this kiss was deliberate
and tender, sweetly exploratory and warm. Vanyacar hadn't realized he
had closed his eyes until Írissë broke the kiss and buried her face
against his neck. "You always smell of hay and summer," she
whispered. He held her, trying to figure out exactly when had their arms
had entwined around each other. He could not think of a word to say.
"Are you mad at me?" she
asked, drawing back to look into his eyes.
Vanyacar shook his head. His first real
kiss had stolen his words.
"Shall I go?"
"No," he croaked as fast as he
could.
She kissed him again, and their kiss
lasted longer this time, as they delved deeper into each other.
Vanyacar's thoughts were frozen, except for one: that this was so much
better than any dream he could have had. Írissë was perfection, as she
smiled at him, as she traced his cheek with her fingers and kissed him
again and again. He had known all along that underneath the hard façade
of a daughter of nobility there was sweetness and lovingness. And she
was wrong, she had to love him, she just didn't know it yet. These
kisses could never feel like that if not for love.
They kissed for a long time standing by
the entrance of Vanyacar's house, until it was completely dark outside.
Vanyacar parted with a happy sigh. He knew his grin was silly, but
Írissë's smile seemed to also be stuck to her face.
"I'd better accompany you home
now," he said reluctantly.
Írissë pouted. "Yes, I know it's
time to head back... but you needn't come."
Vanyacar's smile immediately vanished.
"Why? You don't want to be seen with me?"
"Sshh, don't think bad things so
quickly. I was just trying to spare you a walk in the cold."
"Írissë, this is not Aman. People
are different here and the nights are not entirely safe."
"Vanyacar, I don't need another
brother. I can take care of myself!" She opened the door, turned to
deposit a quick kiss on his lips and left before he could move.
~~~~~~
The next evening, Írissë was at his
doorstep again. Vanyacar had dared hoping she would and had come back
home earlier. He felt wings growing on his feet at the sight of her. As
soon as the door was open and they were inside, they embraced so tightly
that ribs cracked.
"I missed you," he said.
"Sorry."
She laughed. "Sorry for missing me
or for my ribs?"
He grinned but he had no witty replies
to deliver, just kisses. They slowly made the small distance from the
door to the fireplace and then they paused long enough for Vanyacar to
light the fire and spread a blanket on the floor.
"Will you eat with me?" he
asked.
With a grin, she nodded. "Yes, but
later." She pulled him by the hand and they sat on the blanket,
kissing lightly.
"I saw you today," she said.
"You were with your friend and looked busy."
"Varyamo? Yes." Vanyacar
frowned, remembering the unexpected questioning regarding his sudden
change of mood and the awkward atmosphere that had hung between him and
Varyamo. Their friendship had grown almost to what it had been before
their fight in Aman, but now Vanyacar felt guilty for having a secret.
He decided not to let it ruin the evening.
"What were you doing when you saw
me?"
"On my way to the forest." She
frowned. "If we don't get our livestock growing and some crops for
next year, I think we'll be in serious trouble. It took me the whole day
to catch a miser dozen rabbits and a couple of quails." She shook
her head. "Let's not talk about these things."
Vanyacar agreed, recognizing his own
feeling in her words. "All right." For a second they sat
quietly, studying each other's face, and Vanyacar feared they had run
out of things to say but then both started speaking simultaneously.
"Guess who I saw today?"
"Did I tell you that I am making a
sofa?"
They started laughing, begging the other
to continue, and suddenly all awkwardness and dark thoughts were gone
and they were simply Vanyacar and Írissë, laughing and talking about
everything and nothing, kissing sweetly, eating dry cheese while sitting
on the hard floor like the poorest of peasants.
The evening passed too quickly, though.
Again Vanyacar volunteered to take Írissë home, but she denied him
once more. "It's not that we can't be seen together. I don't care.
It's just that... when you do that, I feel tied. I like being alone for
a while-"
"You're practically alone when you
hunt in the forest everyday."
"It's different."
Vanyacar frowned but let her go with a
kiss, trying to understand. He had always known she loved what freedom
she could have.
~~~~~~
For the following month Írissë showed
up each evening. Vanyacar found himself returning home earlier and
earlier but she would always beat him. Their time together was the best
part of their days and they relished it.
One afternoon, while the sun was still
high, they met on the way to Vanyacar's house.
"Turukáno asked me where I've been
spending all my time," Írissë said. "I think he's the only
one who ever notices me. And I haven't been hunting much. Not that there
is much to catch."
"What did you tell him?"
Vanyacar asked cautiously.
"That I was with you." She
shrugged.
"As a friend?"
"I didn't specify and he didn't ask
but if there's someone who knows me well that is Turukáno. So, there's
your answer."
Vanyacar smiled. It wasn't the answer
that he would have wanted but it was close enough. "I have the
first carrots here." He proudly lifted a bunch of dirty carrots.
"Tonight we have soup!"
Írissë grinned and took his arm.
Vanyacar could see a few heads turning in their direction and the gossip
already forming as a cloud above them and it made him glad. The world
would know that Írissë was his.
They entered his house and made the
soup, teasing each other and kissing every few moments, then ate it on
Vanyacar's new sofa, a large piece that owned nothing to elegance but
that at least was comfortable enough, if a bit lumpy.
"I suppose you'll have tables and
chairs and all those things pretty soon but I rather liked our blanket
on the floor," she said.
"We can still have it."
Vanyacar reached behind his head and retrieved the blanket from behind
the couch. "See?" He spread it before them. "We can
celebrate having soup and furniture on the old blanket."
Írissë laughed as she slipped down to
the floor.
"Are you serious?" Vanyacar
asked, not waiting for her answer to follow.
"Very serious," she grinned,
pulling him close for a kiss. With nimble fingers, she released his hair
from the thong that held it in a ponytail and ruffled it. "I don't
know if I like more your hair or your eyes," she said.
Vanyacar grinned. "Do you have to
choose?"
"No." She kissed him again,
running her fingers through his hair, coming closer. Vanyacar kissed her
back, sighing in the kiss as he let his hands run up and down her back,
feeling the exquisite curves and the luxurious hair beneath his fingers.
They had been together for a month and already he felt such difficulty
in controlling himself, the places his hands touched, the thoughts in
his head... wondering how anyone ever resisted those long engagements,
he kissed her lightly and sat back, shifting slightly to discreetly
adjust his arousal in his breeches.
"You haven't told me about your day
yet," he said, trying to ignore her hand tracing delicate circles
on his thigh.
"Boring. You're the most
interesting thing..." Her reply was laconic but her hand was not.
Vanyacar felt the light touch as trails of fire.
"Seriously," he insisted.
"Yes, it was seriously
boring." She nibbled on his ear lobe, then on the tender skin where
jaw met neck. "I love it when you do that to me. Does it feel the
same for you? Like there's a fountain of fire spreading in rivers every
where."
Vanyacar gasped. "Yes. But..."
Írissë covered his mouth with hers,
taking his hand to her breast. "You never touch me here. Don't you
like it?"
Vanyacar let out a ragged sigh. "Írissë,
please. It's hard to-"
"I know it's hard."
Vanyacar could hardly believe when she
touched him between his legs. A jolt coursed through him, so intense he
almost came. "-control myself," he forced himself to finish,
delicately pushing her hand aside as he drew back.
"Írissë..."
"Just love me, Vanyacar. We both
want it. My reputation won't be worse for it and neither will yours -
everybody's talking already."
"You are ever the romantic,"
he managed to smile despite the frown her words had caused.
"I've never been as happy as I am
with you."
Even as she said it, mist formed in her
eyes. She hid her face in Vanyacar's hair but not before he saw her
tears. "Hush," he said embracing her."Everything is
fine."
She sighed and kissed his hair. "I
love you."
Vanyacar had not expected the words. He
had avoided them himself, for fear of not hearing the reply he wished
for. "I love you too," he said. They kissed, and this time,
when Írissë's hand strayed to his hardness, Vanyacar didn't push her
away. He let her touch him, as he explored her body too, reverently
touching her full breasts, depositing kisses over the fabric of her
gown.
She took her hand from him, and deftly
unfastened the buttons of her gown exposing herself down to the waist.
Vanyacar immediately covered her bosom with kisses and sweet caresses
that grew more intense as Írissë's breathing became heavier and she
cradled his head in her hands, begging for more. She slid back until she
was lying on the blanket and with Vanyacar on top of her, still kissing
her nipples, her neck and her mouth. He could feel her hands moving on
him, from his hair to his neck where she worked the fastenings until he
was free to take his tunic off. He wasted no time. A part of him still
said that he should stop and wait for them to be properly betrothed,
married even, but Írissë kissed him so, tried to touch his nipples as
he had touched hers and it felt so good and right. Her legs were wrapped
around his waist now and he was so hard, rubbing against her through all
the cloth, in a pleasure that was almost painful.
She reached down and tried to unlace his
breeches. The knots were tight and in a moment of sobriety, Vanyacar
held her hand. "Maybe it's best left this way."
She whimpered under him, rubbing
slightly and he let her hand free. In the blink of an eye, he was
completely naked, lying on top of her, painfully aroused and still
wondering if he should force himself to leave for his room and quickly
bring himself off with his hand.
"You're so beautiful,"
Írissë said, breaking the last coherent thought in Vanyacar's mind. He
turned to lie on his side, in part to lift some weight off of her, in
part to better take the rest of her dress off. She lay like him,
completely naked under the firelight, almost glowing and suddenly shy.
Vanyacar worshiped her body with his hands and his mouth, until she took
his hand and guided it where he most wished to touch, the uncharted
territory between her thighs. She was wet and hot. Vanyacar had heard
many things about making love, but none of it occurred to him now. There
was just Írissë who sighed sweetly when he touched her, who moaned
when he moved his fingers, and gasped when he touched a particular spot.
He tried again and again, feeling that he wouldn't last much longer even
if she didn't touch him.
"Vanyacar," she whispered,
pushing her hips up against his fingers. "Vanyacar, love me."
Before she had finished the sentence he
was on top of her and inside her. He wanted to stop, to make sure she
was fine, but his body moved out of its own accord, and her hands were
on his buttocks, pulling him in deeper, her nails digging his skin. She
bit his shoulder deep and shuddered beneath him, her thighs clenching
hard around his hips as she pulsed tightly around his hardness.
"Did I hurt you?" Vanyacar
asked, between pants, still moving to her pull. Írissë relaxed
slightly around him, laying her head back on the floor though she still
heaved.
"No," she sighed between
pants. "No, that was incredible."
She reached up to kiss him and Vanyacar
let go completely, spilling inside her with only a few more thrusts.
They lay side by side panting, their
minds empty of any thoughts until their heartbeats returned to normal
and the sheen of sweat on their skin cooled.
"Do you regret it?" Vanyacar
asked, though he could not.
"No. Never." She turned and
kissed him. "People whisper that it is good but only after a few
times. You made it wonderful."
"It was too quick." Vanyacar
chided himself silently. Like Írissë he had also heard stories about
virgins, mostly about the too-fast kind of virgin.
"It was perfect," Írissë
said dispelling his doubts. "And we can try again..."
Vanyacar was still half hard, but at her
words the blood in his body all rushed to the same point. "We
can," he said. "But it's getting late..."
"Yes, it is." She raised an
eyebrow expressing exactly what she thought of that.
Vanyacar kissed her, vowing to himself
to take it slower this time. Between caresses and scattered words of
love and desire, the evening went by, then the night, and then dawn
came. Írissë left with first light, her dress completely wrinkled and
a joyfulness in her gait that confirmed any suspicions the gossipmongers
may have had.
~~~~~~
That night was the first of many happy
ones. Írissë's late arrival was not unnoticed and there was much
strife between father and daughter until Nolofinwë decided it was
easier to turn the blind eye. Vanyacar wondered at that, that Írissë
could face her father to keep a lover but not to reject a husband she
didn't want. He supposed it was love, for in his mind he had no doubt
that Írissë had come to love him as he had always dreamed. There were
quarrels of course, whenever marriage was mentioned. Vanyacar felt that
they were bound together by their carnal acts as well as by their love
and maintained that they should live in the same house. Írissë would
not hear of it or of elflings. She said they had time. They were happy
despite all, and became even happier when Turukáno decided to found a
realm of his own and to take them away from the gloom of Mithrim and the
constant conflicts with Nolofinwë.
To the end of his life and the beginning
of another, Vanyacar would always remember the days of Nevrast as the
happiest he had known. But nothing remains the same. Turukáno decided
he wanted to move to somewhere safer and they did. Vanyacar's good
services earned him a title in Turukáno's court and he was widely
respected and loved. His life was good except for one detail: the sweet,
carefree, sensual woman that Írissë was indoors was all too quickly
completely replaced by the tense mask Vanyacar knew from court. Írissë
now rarely searched him out and when she did, their couplings were
frantic and loveless, often followed by bitter words about gilded cages.
Vanyacar often wondered if they were restricted to the Hidden City or if
they were directed at him too. He oscillated between anger,
disappointment and hope that all would be well someday. It never was.
More and more often Írissë spoke of
leaving the city. Sometimes, she said she just wanted to hunt without
seeing only mountains in the horizon regardless of the direction. Other
times, she spoke wildly of leaving and not returning. Vanyacar could not
understand her anymore, but in the day she finally convinced Turukáno
to let her make a trip, he was the first to offer to be her escort. Her
eyes shone with something dangerously close to hatred, hurting Vanyacar
to the core but he said nothing, not even to Varyamo who regarded him
from across the room before volunteering too.
And so it was that they left Hidden City
and rode out to meet cousins Írissë had professed to love no more.
Vanyacar felt the fool, but rode on, ignoring her cold silence and
Varyamo's gentle probing. Then the accident happened, followed by the
despaired search. When Vanyacar returned to Gondolin followed only by
Varyamo and Egalmoth, he delivered the news to Turukáno with the
sobriety of those who have utterly failed.
For months he could not even speak. In
his heart he knew she was not lost. She had found the freedom she so
heartily desired and the price had been his heart.
Finis
December 2007