Tending the Lady's Garden by Raiyana

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 4

Ingwë was right, of course, Findis knew, in at least two areas.

She had always worried too much about how others saw her, but she had not considered that her stringent adherence to propriety stemmed from the reactions to her parents’ union and for the first time she resented both of them equally for the pressure they’d put on her to be Lady Findis.

She also knew that she had to confess her heart to Alálamë, if only for her own peace of mind; the last few moon-turning had showed her that as romantic as she had found her ammë’s steady waiting in love as a story, the reality of pining for someone you could not have was much harsher. Part of her hoped that she might be able to put it behind her, at least a little, if Alálamë told her no outright. Perhaps her stubborn heart would listen, then?

And yet Findis was acutely aware that this feeling bore only superficial resemblance to the small tendre she had once nursed for Elemmírë, and quietly feared that she had been forever altered by the seeds Alálamë’s kind smile and gentle hands had sown in her heart, blooming into something much fuller and more painful than Findis had ever expected.

She did not think it would pass.

 

 

Coming back to Indis’ house on a drearily rainy day, Findis still felt ambivalent about her path; letting go of so many yéni of expectations was daunting in itself, and yet it paled in comparison to the fear that gripped her when she considered what she would say to Alálamë… and how she might respond.

Some memories gave her hope, making her heart soar like one of Taniquetil’s Eagles, and in the next moment she would recall the way Altorno’s arm had been wrapped around Alálamë’s shoulder and feel it plummet faster than a rock thrown from the Mindon Eldaliéva.

Ammë smiled at her.

For a few moments, Findis was thrown, but accepts her quiet embrace, frightened to feel how thin she had truly become, so different from the Indis she remembered sitting next to Atar.

“I missed you,” she murmured, so softly that Indis could pretend not to have heard her at all.

“As I missed you, daughter,” Indis replied, and it’s another glimmer of hope that perhaps Ammë will return to them – not as she once was, perhaps, but more than the sad spectre of herself she had become since Atar was murdered.

Drawing her along to her sitting room, Indis kept up a steady stream of words, filling her ears with the gossip of the house, and a wry amusement at the thought of Indis’ handmaiden’s statement of pregnancy as evidenced by the flowers she wore.

“I do not think ladies of Tirion are taught the language of Flowers,” Indis confided in her, and for  moment Findis was transported back in time to her childhood, sitting by her ammë’s feet, embroidery hoop in hand, as she spoke of the customs of the Vanyar and the giving of flowers as messages.

“Perhaps not,” Findis smiled, keeping her expression carefully controlled even as her mind spun with fragments of plans. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage, even if she would have to send to Ingwë to ask what flowers to present to her Alálamë; surely a gardener would be aware she was being wooed with a gift of flowers?

 

The sun, barely discernible behind the grey clouds and the falling waters, had moved most of the way across the sky when Findis managed to escape ammë’s questions to return to her room, intending to wash and dress for dinner. She felt light as she walked through the house; Indis seemed to have been buoyed by her return, as though she had expected Findis to be gone forever. The thought was at once sad, bringing with it more grief for her siblings who were in the Halls of Mandos, and hopeful. Perhaps Indis would find a way to go on – she had spoken of visiting Estë’s lake, and Findis supported the idea; Indis needed more healing than she knew how to provide, solace that she might find easier in the company of the Valie. Her agreement seemed to have surprised her ammë, Findis thought, moving towards her familiar door and wondering if Indis had expected her derision.

Pushing the door open, Findis was struck dumb, staring at the spectacle before her. At the foot of her bed, perched on the large trunk that Arafinwe had carved for her many yéni ago, a silver platter peeked from beneath a riot of white and purple helini that Alálamë – Alálamë was in her rooms? – must have grown in the warm glass houses for them to have survived the chill of hrivë. What truly stole her attention, however, was the absolutely giant garishly bright orange pumpkin set in the middle of the arrangement.

“What… what is this?” she asked, frowning quizzically, her eyes darting from Alálamë’ downcast expression to the pumpkin and back, ruthlessly stopping herself from imagining more feeling in those green eyes than warranted. Gesturing at the display, her mind raced, wondering how she had decided upon such a welcome home gift.

“Well, I uhm…” Alálamë hesitated, biting her lip. She motioned towards the pumpkin. “It’s… it’s finished,” she muttered, looking down at her bare feet before glancing back up at Findis.

“I don’t…” Findis began, staring at Alálamë whose face fell before she could hide it, sparking a wild hope in her breast. Clearly there was meaning in this gift, and Findis struggled to remember long-ago lessons at her ammë’s feet.

“I apologise, my Lady,” Alálamë whispered to her feet. “I- I will go.” Her feet moved, intending to take her past Findis and out the door, and Findis found her hand wrapped around Alálamë’s strong arm, feeling the muscles flex under her touch, before she knew she had decided to stop her. Alálamë said nothing, but Findis could feel the minute trembles racing over her skin, hear the slight gasp she could not quite stifle in time.

“I don’t understand the meaning of this gift, Alálamë,” she whispered, turning her head to look at her love. Alálamë is slightly taller, the silvery hair coiling in its familiar braid hanging over one shoulder. She shivered at the soft words but did not raise her head.

“Helini carry meanings, my Lady,” she told her toes, every muscle tense like a hart who has caught sight of a hunter – poised to flee at the first sign of movement.

“Tell me, Alálamë,” Findis whispered, breathing out the words and fearing that the sound of her voice would spark the flight she saw in Alálamë’s tense posture. If possible, the request made her tenser, and Findis felt a stab of guilt for putting her on the spot like that.

Alálamë took a shuddering breath, exhaling the words as though she was damning herself by speaking rather than making Findis’ heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest.

“Helini always involve one person thinking of another,” she said, “though the colour changes their meaning.”

“These are white with violet edging,” Findis replied thoughtfully as old knowledge marshalled itself in her mind, falling from her lips without as she thinks out loud. “Take a chance…on my…” she paused, her cheeks flashing a brilliant scarlet as a small gasp escaped her, turning her head to stare at the flowers. Take a chance on my love for you, they begged, and Findis thought she had never felt more elated.

Alálamë’s toneless chuckle surprised her, but not as much as her words.

“You have no need to continue, my lady,” she said steadily, pulling her arm from her grip. “I have apologised; you need never see me again.” Ducking out of the doorway, Alálamë was gone before Findis could voice her protest.

Instead, she ran, catching up with Alálamë’s hunched figure halfway down the corridor and tossing all care for propriety to the wind, one hand wrapping around Alálamë’s calloused fingers and the other tugging on her shoulder to make her turn around.

“I accept,” she whispered softly, though she wasn’t sure Alálamë even heard the words, those beautiful green eyes welling with water. Kissing away the tears that dotted her cheeks seemed natural, every part of Findis needing to soothe her distress. Findis was not as aware of herself as she normally would have been, wrapping Alálamë in small tendrils of her own joyful fëa that seemed to flare brighter behind her eyelids every time her lips met the softly freckled skin of her love.

When she found Alálamë’s lips beneath her own she dared steal a small taste. Alálamë is like cool green shade on a hot day and the heady feeling of her fëa brushing against Findis in such an intimate caress nearly swept the words out of her mind again.

“I accept,” she murmured, pressing the words against Alálamë’s mouth with every kiss, breathing them into her mouth.

“You… you do?” Alálamë asked, pulling away slightly, frowning at her in confusion. Findis noticed for the first time the soft grip on her hips that she had missed, opening her eyes to see the love in those eyes darken with a sudden burst of sheer hunger.

Findis groaned, wanting nothing more than to claim those lips again, but fully aware that she needed to make absolutely sure this was what Alálamë wanted. Those green eyes hid again, turned downwards and Findis lifted one hand to tilt her face back up. “Stop doing that, melmenya,” she whispered softly, caressing soft pale skin, the golden tan of summer faded against the gold of her own skin. Alálamë blushed brightly, her eyes widening at the term of endearment, her mouth opening as though she wanted to protest it being applied to her. “I much prefer to see these beautiful eyes of yours,” Findis murmured, feeling her cheeks heat at the look in those eyes, her own darting down to Alálamë’s mouth as she licked her lip, wanting to steal another kiss – and another and one more until Alálamë told her no. “I love you,” she said, leaning in to press a featherlight kiss against the corner of Alálamë’s soft mouth, surprised but pleased by the way she returned the pressure. One of Alálamë’s hands ran up her back to tangle in her hair and Findis gasped; a strange needful sound that made it tighten in her hair, made Alálamë press closer against her with a small gasp. “Be mine,” Findis asked: she would beg if she had to, but Alálamë’s arms just tighten around her, flowing into each kiss with a fervour she had not expected when she dreamt of this moment. “My love, my Alálamë.” Leaning into those arms, holding her firmly against Alálamë’s rain-wet tunic, Findis smiled. “Be my wife?”

Alálamë stiffened, though she did not pull away, and Findis felt a horrid moment of crushing self-doubt before her soft voice responded, the look in her eyes enough to make Findis’ cheeks heat along with her blood. Alálamë smiled, small fingers of her fëa already reaching for Findis’ own, flickers of silver-green happiness.

“Findis…” she said, and her name had never sounded quite so lovely before, “I love you… my Findis. Yes.”