Deeper Waters

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DEEPER WATERS
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Chapter 10


“Heledir,” Velenda seemed as close to exasperation as an elf was ever likely to get, “If we are going to work together on this history, you need to tell me what you know. I do not understand why you are holding something back.”

Heledir looked down at the table and listlessly moved a paper from one pile to another. He paused to admire Velenda’s flowing script, covering the fine parchment with tidy blocks of notes in dark green ink. How had he let his infatuation get the better of him to the extent of agreeing to this joint venture? A moment’s consideration would have foretold the problem he was now facing.

“It is not that I do not want to discuss it with you,” he said carefully, “But some things are not fully mine to tell.”

“The House of Dol Amroth is one of the few remaining lines of Elven blood amongst men,” she said, “and thus it is central to our work. If we cannot write of this, we may as well abandon the whole project.”

Heledir glanced up at her and saw that her fair face was slightly flushed. A lock of her hair had escaped from the clasp on top of her head and fallen across her cheek. He watched her brush it back behind her ear in irritated fashion, and his chest constricted. She had never looked more adorable. He sighed and wished for the fiftieth time that Prince Imrahil had not ridden to Emyn Arnen; if his lord had been here, the matter could perhaps have been resolved once and for all.

He had not attempted to feign ignorance when Velenda had asked him about the royal history. It was a tactic that served him well enough when family members tried to prise confidential information from him, but he would not insult her intelligence so. Instead he had been honest and told her directly that he could not share with her the little he knew. Under her accusing grey stare, he now wondered if deceit might not have been an easier option.

“I am sorry, Velenda,” he mumbled.

“Heledir.” Her look of determination made his heart sink. “Have we not worked together these two weeks and discussed all manner of subjects without restraint?” He nodded. “Are we not friends?”

“Truly, Velenda, you are the friend I never dreamed of finding,” he said frankly. A week ago he could not have made such a statement without blushing and stammering, but they were long past that.

“Then do you not trust me?” She opened her eyes wide and fixed him with the full power of her deep unflinching gaze.

Heledir knew he was lost, but still he hesitated.

“I will make it easier for you,” she went on. “Answer my questions and I shall make no notes. When I understand what is troubling you, we can decide together what is included in the history and what is left out. I will write nothing without your consent, and you know I will tell nobody anything you ask me to kto mto myself.”

Seeing that there was no chance of leaving her curiosity unsatisfied, Heledir nodded. “I will tell you, but my prince may have my skin for it,” he said unhappily.

“Your prince does not strike me as one to flay his subjects alive,” she rejoined, “And he well knows that an elf does not readily break an oath. I swear I shall not use the information unless you agree to it.”

“As you wish. This does not come easily to me.”

“Of course not. But you are a historian, Heledir; you should not be afraid of the facts.”

“Afraid, no. Ashamed, maybe.”

“Is it such a terrible story?” She asked.

“If you knew the nature of men as I do,” he said, “You would not need to ask me in the first place. But you are right, we cannot continue with this work if you do not understand the less savoury aspects of our shared history.”

He shifted slightly in his seat, then began. “You ask why Dol Amroth is not full of men and women with elven blood in their veins, why Prince Imrahil and Prince Merenin are the only two so blessed. I asked myself the same question as a boy, and once I had the skills to do so, I sought answers in the historical records.

“Many consider it to be a magical gift, but in fact it is a matter of nature and man’s intervention.
Roughly half the children born to one with the elven blood also carry it, whilst half do not; it is a not uncommon pattern in the living world. So might a brown-eyed mother and a blue-eyed father have three children with brown eyes and three with blue. My own uncle’s family is one such.”

“Even so, those of the elven blood are healthy and long-lived, and a worthy prize in marriage for any man or woman. You might expect their children to crowd the streets of my city. But the prince’s forefathers guarded their birthright jealously, and went to great lengths to ensure it was theirs uniquely. There is a story that the women of elven blood cannot bear children. I have learned otherwise. In fact they, and second or third beardless sons, were simply not permitted to marry. The throne passed to the eldest boy of the elven blood, and so the royal line continued. On a number of occasions that line failed, but a father or brother was called upon to produce an alternative heir.”

“That is not so terrible,” said Velenda thoughtfully, “If that is, indeed, all of it.”

“It is not all, though it grieves me to relate it,” said Heledir sadly. “I have found a number of stories, tales of intrigue and murder. Older and younger sons who rebelled and were . . . dealt with; children born out of wedlock who vanished from the records all too soon. They make for grim reading indeed. Is it any wonder that I hesitated to tell you?”

“But surely no such outrage has occurred in recent years?” She asked.

“Princes Imrahil and Merenin have been lucky, as was Adrahil before them. For three generations now there has only been one child, one boy, born with the elven blood.”

“Do you think Prince Imrahil would have continued the tradition if his daughter or younger son had been otherwise?” She gazed at him levelly.

“In truth, I do not believe my master would willingly be so cruel,” said Heledir slowly, “Yet there are undoubtedly those at court who would want to see it so. Traditions die hard, and in some respects I can see the logic behind this one, harsh as it seems.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is great resentment amongst men towards those who have the prospect of a far longer and healthier life than themselves. It would be hard for you to understand it. Whilst there is only one such, and he Dol Amroth’s prince, the people can accept such difference. I fear, however, that were others to carry the same blessing – if blessing it truly is - they would meet great intolerance, if not worse.”

They sat quietly for a moment, each pondering the story and all that it implied.

“It seems to me that Dol Amroth is truly central to our history,” said Velenda at last. “Painful as it may be to explore, it illustrates many aspects of the difficulties between elves and men in the latter ages of Arda.”

“Aye, and I know you are right; if we are going to write of the interactions of the two races, we can hardly ignore it. But I wonder how Prince Imrahil will respond to the idea of the family secrets being aired in public?”

“We can only ask him,” she replied. “I am sure that he will support the project in general terms, given his own . . . ah, fondness for elvenkind.”

He looked at her sharply, and caught the faint hint of a smile on her lips. “There is ill feeling towards Prince Legolas in Dol Amroth, you know. I myself have seen it erupt into violence,” he said suddenly. “These matters do not reside solely in the past.”


“Men envy us,” she said simply.

“Aye, and they are ignorant of your true natures, and call you cold.”

“As many of my kin are wont to describe men as rash and lacking in wisdom.” The smile she produced now was whole-hearted, and solely for him. “In fact it is a wonder that any friendship could develop between us,” she added wryly.

Heledir was not joking as he gazed into her eyes and said, “Truly a wonder.” He knew that he was doing a poor job of concealing his feelings for Velenda, but had somehow ceased to care.

She looked at him for a long moment, then leaned forward and placed a hand on his arm just above the wrist. Her touch was light but warm, and caused an astonishing response in his body. His nerves stood to attention and blood pounded in his ears; an ache rapidly developed in his groin which he tried hard to ignore. He stared down at the fine pale hand resting on his own coarse flesh, then lifted his eyes to hers. She did not move.

“Heledir,” she said at last. “We have worked hard these last two weeks, and I have left you little time for recreation. Would you care to leave the books behind this evening, and walk with me in the forest once more? I should be glad of your company.”

“Of course, Velenda, anything you wish.” Anything to carry on looking into those deep grey eyes, to hear that angel’s voice, to feel, Valar preserve him, that delicate touch on his skin.

“Meet me here in an hour’s time,” she said softly. “I shall go now to the kitchens to find some food and wine to take with us.”

She was gone before Heledir could find anything intelligible to say, leaving him aflame with anxious desire. Had he imagined it, or had her thumb really circled teasingly on the soft flesh of his inner wrist?

It was the longest hour he had ever known. Back in his cabin he changed his shirt and tunic, and spent many minutes before the mirror trying to arrange his belt so as to conceal the thickening at his middle. His hair was clearly beyond hope; cut short to stay out of his eyes when reading, it fell as it chose, in an unruly brown mop streaked with grey. “At least I am not going bald,” he muttered, trying in vain to coax it into something that might be considered an acceptable shape.

Finally he attempted reason. You have worked beside her for two weeks; she has seen you as you are; why worry now? The logic of his thoughts did nothing to quell the nervous sensations in his belly. In those two weeks she had never touched him as she had this afternoon, nor looked at him with such . . . could it be invitation? . . . in her wide hypnotic eyes. Something had changed, and Heledir had never wanted nor feared anything as much as this.

It was well he had not planned any pretty words to say when they met back at the library, for one glance at Velenda rendered him speechless. She had abandoned her workaday tunic and leggings for a soft, blue-green robe which did not quite cover the toes of her grey suede boots. Her hair was braided back from her face, but then hung loose from a clasp behind her head in a rich dark fall over her shoulders. She was utterly beautiful.

“Let us go.” She smiled sweetly and handed him one of the baskets at her side. “You carry the food, and I shall take the wine and the blankets.”

The blankets? Gods, the image that flashed into his mind was enough to bring him to his knees. Yet somehow he managed to put one foot before the other and followed her out of the library and up the path that led Westwards high into the forest. She talked as they went, pointing out particular plants, commenting on the medicinal uses of herbs and barks, drawing his attention to the song of various birds. Gradually he found himself relaxing a little and matching his stride to hers; before long they walked side by side, conversing as easily as ever. Perhaps he had imagined the change in atmosphere between them. There was no hint of aught but friendship now.

At length they reached a high point on the slopes where they could look up to the darkening sky and down over the treetops to the river.

“I like this place,” she said, setting down her basket and gazing towards the setting sun. “We can look at the stars, and they will be bright tonight, yet the boulders behind will shelter us should the wind grow stronger.”

“It is beautiful here,” Heledir concurred. The evening was clear yet warm, the earth and rocks around them heated by a day of unclouded sunshine.

Together they spread a large blanket on trounround, and sat side by side, the baskets between them.

“Shall we eat? I must confess I am very hungry.” She brought forth plates and a sumptuous selection of fruits, cheese and pastries. Heledir eyed them approvingly in the fading light. “And to wash it down, here . . .” Out of the other basket came two metal goblets and a small green bottle.

“There is sweet water in the stream, but I thought we might need this,” she said, handing the drink to him. “Have a care; it is strong. But should the night grow cold, you will not feel it.”

Heledir took the goblet and sipped the heavy, fragrant liquid. Indeed it warmed him, slow tentacles of fire spreading through his body from his mouth and gullet. An astonishing sense of well-being followed in their wake. “It is wonderful,” he gasped. “What is it?”

“Miruvor,” she replied. “Lord Elladan sent me a case of bottles with the books. Thankfully they arrived undisturbed.” Velenda sipped her own drink thoughtfully.

“Lord Elladan must think highly of you,” Heledir said tentatively.

“We were close for yea years,” she replied, a wistful tone to her voice. “We studied together with Lord Erestor, and spent many happy days in the library. He too is a true scholar, when his mind is not turned to thoughts of war and revenge.”

“Was it not difficult to leave Rivendell?” he asked suddenly. “I do not fully understand why you chose to come here.”

“It was difficult, and yet not so,” she said, with a sigh. “When my parents told me they were planning to take ship with Lord Elrond and the others, I thought for a time that I should go with them. But I knew in my heart that I was not ready to leave all that I love here. I may spend much of my time in the library, but that does not mean I have lost my connection to the earth. It was terrible to see them leave, but it was the right choice.”

“But why did you not remain in your home?”

“Tuillin is all the family I have now,” she said, “and I resolved to stay with her. But it was more than that. Heledir, Rivendell is always beautiful, and Elladan and Elrohir make it a place of learning and warm welcome still, but it is not the same. To stay there would be to remind myself constantly of all that has gone, never to return. No, better to make a new start, build new memories.”

He watched her sip the miruvor slowly, then stare out to the horizon, her face like a solemn statue. What must it be to carry the burden of immortality? He must seem such a brief, passing thing to her. Yet if he could only make her happy, just for a moment . . . “Velenda,” he began.

She turned to him and smiled. “Enough melancholy,” she said. “Let us eat, while we can still see what we are doing. It will be a while before the moon is bright.”

The moment for bold utterances had passed. Heledir followed Velenda’s lead in turning to the food, and by unspoken consent the talk moved to less serious matters.

When the last fruit stone was buried beneath the forest soil and the last empty plate carefully returned to the basket, Velenda put the hampers to one side of the blanket, and shifted a little to face Heledir as she leaned on one long slim arm.

“Delicious,” she said. He could not see clearly in the near-dark, but it seemed that she licked her lips.

“Absolutely,” he managed, with a weak grin, wondering how on earth he might continue.

Perhaps she read his mind in that disconcerting way that elves sometimes had, for she reached towards him and brushed her fingers lightly down his arm. To his astonishment, she took his hand in hers. “Heledir,” she said, “I am sorry that you must leave in only two days. I shall miss you when you are gone.”

“You will?” His breath seemed to be caught in his throat, his body tingling all over as the fingers curled around his palm began to stroke soft circles there.

“Of course. You have become very dear to me.” She released her hold for a moment to slide across the blanket, now facing him completely with her legs tucked beneath her. Before he could think of anything to say, her hand was raised to his cheek, and she ran her fingers from temple to jaw. “I would show you how dear you are,” she whispered. “May I do so?”

“Yes, anything . . .” was all he managed before her lips met his and she began to kiss him.

Having no experience to draw on, Heledir could only follow lea lead blindly as she pressed her warm, firm mouth against his. He shivered as her tongue emerged and swept across his upper and lower lips. It took him a second to realise that the insistent pressure that followed was a signal for him to open, but when he did so, he came close to swooning with pleasure as he tasted her spicy sweetness, and felt her playful exploration of his mouth.

If this kiss could last for ever, if he could die here, he would be happy.

At length Velenda pulled away, but kept her hand at the back of his head, gently massaging there.

“You must breathe,” she said as he spluttered, and the white of her teeth was visible in the gloom.

“Velenda,” he gasped at last, “That was . . . incredible.”

“That was only the beginning, if you wish,” she replied solemnly .

In spite of the fiery response raging through his body, some rational part of Heledir’s mind came to the surface. “But why, Velenda? Why would you want to do this?” he asked.

“Because you are a dear friend, who has brought me much joy these two weeks; because I believe we would both enjoy sharing pleasure together; because the thought of your leaving saddens me, and I would have something more to remember of you . . . How many reasons should I give?”

“But I am not . . . you could . . .” he could find no words to articulate his sense of unworthiness, but his manner must have made it clear.

“You think you are not beautiful, and wonder why I should want to touch you this way?” Her hand dropped from his neck to move across his back, his shoulders, and round to rest on his chest. “You do not see through my eyes. What to you is commonplace, to me is exotic, intriguing.” By way of illustration her finger ran delicately down into the open neck of his tunic and twirled around a stray tuft of hair there.

Heledir tried once more to voice his doubts. “But you are, you are an elf!” he cried, realising the inanity of the comment even as it left his mouth.

“And you are a man. Solid and comforting where we are slender and spiritual. That in itself is enough to make me want to touch you, I will confess. In you I can see, can feel, all that is real and substantial on this earth. You cannot imagine how appealing that is to one who has watched her loved ones fade from her sight. And I am drawn to you, Heledir, by the strength of our friendship. Shall we do this, or would you rather I dropped the matter?”

“You know I wnothnothing more,” he whispered. “But I have nothing to offer you.”

“I am not suggesting marriage, my friend,” she laughed. “It will be years, centuries perhaps, before I am ready for such a bond. You know how it is for my people; there are some acts of love that can only be shared by those joined for life. These we may not experience together. Then again there is still much pleasure to be found, and I will not leave you unsatisfied.”

“Gods!” He could not contain the oath as her words set his body aflame. “Do what you will, Velenda. I could no more resist you than . . .” her lips on his silenced him once more.

They kissed for a long time, until Heledir, light-headed, forgot that he had ever tried to protest. Velenda’s hands roamed across his back as her tongue twined around his. After a time, his confidence grew, and he began to respond in kind.

“I would touch more of you.” The silky voice whispered in his ear, making all the hairs on his sta stand on end at once.

She removed his tunic and shirt slowly, caressing parts of him he had never guessed to be sensitive, making him moan with sheer bliss. When she rose to take off her own clothes, standing before him pale and gleaming in the light of the rising moon, only a concerted effort of will prevented him from spilling in his breeches, untouched. But when she lay down beside him, her warm softness pressed against him, he found appropriate words at last.

“Teach me, Velenda. Tell me how to please you.”

“Ah, Heledir,” she sighed, running her fingers across his chest, “Ever the scholar. This is a lesson best learned for yourself. Touch me as you will, and let my reactions guide you.”

So touch her he did, softly at first with his hands, as if afraid to break something unbearably precious. He stroked her slowly from her face down to her hips, astonished by the smooth perfection of her skin, breathlessly enraptured by the beauty before him. Her gasps and cries drew him on, and after a while he bent his head to taste her sweet flesh. He did not forget to kiss her neck, as he had long dreamed of doing, but from there he moved gradually lower, until at last his mouth closed carefully around one pert nipple, and he began to suck gently. Encouraged by her shuddering response, he brought his hand up from her belly to cup her other breast, and with his thumb he mirrored the action of his tongue.

Velenda’s cries were enough to wake the forest, and each sound she uttered sent a delicious thrill through Heledir. Eventually he raised his head to look at the beautiful elf maid moaning beneath his touch, and listened to the need, the hunger in her voice. He took a deep breath. “Tell me, Velenda, tell me what to do.”

“Better than that: I will show you.” Her hand on his pushed it down, sliding slowly over her belly and beyond, over the smooth mound and between her legs, which parted to welcome his approach. Utterly transfixed, he allowed her fingers to guide his into a firm rhythm, sliding amongst the folds of flesh and over the tiny nub he found there. He did not need to ask if what he was doing was right; her desperate writhing might have been interpreted as pain, but her breathy gasps, “Yes, yes,” left no room for doubt.

Suddenly Velenda stilled beneath him and let out a groan, “Heledir!”

He stopped his movement, afraid that he had inadvertently hurt her in his enthusiasm. Her hand flew back to his and pushed it hard against her flesh as she cried out again. Her back arched, and all at once her body was shaking, pulsing, deep spasms of the muscles beneath his fingers. As he understood what was happening to her, Heledir felt a wave of love, pride and desire pass through him, a heady mix that left him reeling, and his eyes filled with tears.

“Velenda, oh Sweet Valar, Velenda, that was incredible,” he said as her breathing returned to normal and her body relaxed.

“Wonderful,” she agreed. “You are an excellent student, as I might have foreseen.” She reached up and pulled his head down for a kiss. Holding the back of his neck she slid her mouth around to his ear. “And now it is your turn,” she whispered.

Somehow she made it last, in spite of his almost painful excitement from the start.

Heledir’s embarrassment as she pulled off his boots and breeches was soothed away with lingering touches and appreciative words. Once her hands moved up his thighs to caress his most sensitive parts his fears and anxiety left him. All he could think of was the indescribable pleasure she was generating, this beautiful, perfect being bending over him, her long hair brushing his hips as her warm firm hands held him, fondled him, stroked him . . .

Gods, let me die now! It can get no better than this! His brain formed the words, but all his mouth could manage was a wordless scream as the ecstasy erupted within him and his own fluids splashed across his chest.

Velenda held him until the last pulse had died away and everything, all life, all energy, had drained from him, leaving him a weak and boneless bundle of incredulous happiness. He felt the tears slide down his face as she nestled herself alongside him, bending in to kiss him chastely on the cheek. “Sweet Heledir, you were made for this. You are beautiful in your passion,” she murmured.

“But I have not . . .” he started, tailing off into foolish silence. Why confess the inexperience which must be so apparent to her?

“Shh, I know.” She kissed him again, softly. “So we have much time to make up for, no? It is well the night is young.”

He rolled to one side and raised himself on an elbow, to look down at her as he reached for the silken mass of her hair. “Velenda, you are so lovely. I do not understand what I have done to deserve this.”

She ran a finger from his chin to his navel as she replied, seemingly unworried by the stickiness there. “You needed to do nothing but be your own gentle, warm-hearted self,” she said. “it is more than enough.”

Heledir remained unconvinced, but kept his thoughts to himself. He bent instead to lick the tender skin of her throat, and thrilled at her answering shiver. Whatever she might say, he knew all too well that this night he had been blessed beyond all dreams of men. However long a life the Gods should allot him, he would never forget a moment of this happiness, and would praise them every day for granting him such a gift.


To be continued…

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Author's note: This series hasn't been forgotten. Expect the final two chapters within the next week to ten days.

Capella