Cinnamon Rolls by elennalore  

In many ways, a kitchen was similar to a forge, Mairon thought as he slipped into Yavanna’s kitchen. He wasn’t surprised to find the room empty and somewhat neglected. Yavanna seldom spent her time there; the Ainur didn’t need any sustenance, and she mainly used the oven to bake Lembas in hopes that one day Elves would awaken and she could finally share her favourite recipe with them.

Mairon was not there for Lembas; to be honest, he rather disliked the taste. He was there because he was nervous and needed something to do with his hands, and if he went to Aulë’s forges, everyone there could read him like an open book. Eönwë was coming to visit him that day, but they were just friends, weren’t they? No need to be nervous at all. There was still some time before his friend would be there, however, and Mairon needed a way to spend time so that he wouldn’t be nervous when Eönwë arrived. That’s why he was in the kitchen. He was going to bake buns for Eönwë.

Yavanna had a book full of hand-written recipes from the era when she still experimented in the kitchen, before she ended up with Lembas. In the book, there was a recipe for sweet buns, but a line of red ink had been crossed over it as if Yavanna had not been fully satisfied by the result. Mairon was not disheartened by the red line; as in the forge, he was confident that he could perfect the recipe during the baking process.

He opened the closet and chose a pink frilly apron, decorated with flowers, that had been Vana’s gift to Yavanna. She had tucked it away into the back of the kitchen closet after opening the present, but now Mairon took it out and put it on. A bit like the aprons he used in the smithies, although... well, it was good that he was alone, he thought as he pirouetted across the floor and pinned back his hair. He lit the fire in a baking oven with a couple of familiar notes of his personal song, just like in a forge. He was ready to make a dough now.

Yavanna had a special wooden bowl for making the dough, and Mairon filled it with fresh milk he had brought with him. The milk needed to be warm, but Mairon didn’t bother with the oven. It only took a couple of heartbeats for the milk to reach the right temperature as he held his palms against the outer surface of the bowl. Then it was time to add sugar and spices. Yavanna’s recipe hadn’t mention cardamom, but it smelled sweet and warm, and Mairon couldn’t resist adding a generous amount of the spice into the mix. Only then he started to add flour, little by little, until he had a proper dough in his hands.

The dough could become very malleable, not unlike silver or gold that could be hammered into beautiful objects. He only needed to knead it well. He warmed a little butter in his hands to make the dough easier to knead. Baking could be messy, too, he realised too late, licking his greasy fingers. Should he have used the oven mitts? No, not yet.

After licking his hands clean, Mairon continued kneading the dough with warm hands. He found himself humming, the previous nervousness already disappeared. He almost wished that Eönwë would be there already so that they could do this baking thing together.

The thought made him tense. No, Eönwë could not arrive before everything was ready and Mairon could be sure that the experiment had been successful. The next step was crucial. If Yavanna’s magic failed and the dough didn’t rise, it was useless. The instructions suggested leaving the bowl close to the oven because the magic needed warmth to be effective, but Mairon had a more trustworthy source of warmth – his own fana. Carefully, like a mother hen, he covered the bowl with a towel and wrapped his arms around it, sitting down on a kitchen chair so that the bowl was firmly pressed against his warmth-radiating body. It took a lot of patience and trust to just sit there and not peek under the towel while Yavanna’s song lingered in the bowl, slowly awakening the dough. In some ways, forge work was more straightforward.

At last, he decided that enough time had passed and pulled away the towel. A pleasant surprise waited for him there: the dough had doubled in size and felt soft and inviting in his hands. The tension on his shoulders lessened again. He put some flour on the wooden table before placing the ball of dough on it; it was time to make little round buns of the dough.

Or so Yavanna’s recipe had said, but suddenly Mairon had an idea for something novel and more interesting he wanted to try. He was thinking of metal alloys, and how, by combining two different elements, you could make superior metals in the forge. Perhaps it was the same in the kitchen? The dough was one of the elements; he only had to invent another one.

In preparation, Mairon rolled out the dough and went to search Yavanna’s ingredients for ideas. Another visit to the cool cellar was successful, and he brought back some more butter. This time, he softened it in a small bowl before spreading it on the dough. He was pleased with the result; the butter would make a great base for his alloy. It was not enough, though. The buns needed to taste so good that Eönwë would always remember the taste. More sugar, then, for he was sure that Eönwë loved sweet things. Mairon sniffed the contents of Yavanna’s herb and spice closet, one by one, until he opened the jar that said cinnamon. Whatever the ground spice was, it was perfect for his purposes. The sweet smell made him think of Eönwë, and he laughed aloud, delighted. He sprinkled a generous amount of cinnamon on buttered dough, together with sugar. Now his alloy was ready. He rolled up the dough into a bar that he cut into small sections, using his personal gold knife.

The fire in the oven burned bright, but Yavanna’s recipe said that another wait was needed before the buns could go into the baking oven. Mairon arranged them on a tray close to the oven and covered them with a towel. Then he waited. Just when it was almost time to take the towel off, there was a knock on the window. Mairon looked up and saw Eönwë waving at him happily behind the glass. He had arrived early!

It was too late to pretend that he had not heard Eönwë knocking. Mairon’s heart was beating wildly, but he flashed his most charming smile as he opened the window for his friend. They were on the second floor of the mansion, but for a winged being like Eönwë, that was no obstacle. The only hindrance was the window frame that threatened to be too tight for his magnificent pair of wings. Finally, with Mairon’s help, he got himself inside and jumped down lightly while a stray feather from his wing floated across the room and ended on Mairon’s baking tray. He picked it up promptly, glad about the tea towel that hid the rolls from view.

“Aulë said I could find you here,” Eönwë told him. Or course, Mairon thought, nothing could be hidden from Aulë in his own Halls. “What are you doing? Oh, Mairon, are you baking?”

“It’s not ready yet,” Mairon said, feeling the old tension returning. “You came too early.”

“Can I help you? Just tell me what to do, I have never baked anything in my life. We mostly drink miruvor at Manwë’s feasts.”

Mairon looked at an egg on the table, the one he had been about to break and whisk when Eönwë had interrupted him. Somehow, he felt that Eönwë would not want to break any eggs – his friend was too much a bird himself.

“You can bring me a box of pearl sugar,” he said at last. “It’s probably in the pantry over there.”

While Eönwë was gone, Mairon whisked the egg and brushed it over each roll as a coating. Finally, Eönwë returned victoriously with the box of pearl sugar, and Mairon let him sprinkle it on top of the rolls. They were baking together at last – and it delighted Mairon, he noticed.

“Now I will put them into the baking oven,” he told Eönwë after they had finished sprinkling the sugar. “And afterwards, we will eat them.”

He kept himself busy while the buns were in the oven, not daring to let his eyes meet Eönwë’s. Instead, he cleaned all the kitchen, and Eönwë helped him, chattering about the latest gossip in Almaren, which would normally have somewhat interested Mairon, but today, he just couldn’t concentrate.

Suddenly, Mairon remembered that he still wore that silly pink apron. Blushing, he ripped it off and pushed the bundle out of sight.

“I liked that apron,” Eönwë commented innocently. “It looked good on you.”

Mairon pretended to be peeking into the oven. A pleasant smell of cinnamon had started to fill the kitchen, and his previous embarrassment turned into a thrill of anticipation, just like in a forge before revealing the final cast.

Meanwhile, Eönwë had moved very close, peeking into the oven next to him. “Mm-mm. Nice smell.”

It’s your smell, Mairon wanted to say to him.

The delicious smell intensified and made Mairon’s mouth water when he took the cinnamon rolls out of the oven. Eönwë hopped happily around him, similarly excited.

“Look at them! You’re brilliant, Mairon!”

“Let’s taste them together,” he suggested, hoping that they would taste as good as they smelled. He had never baked anything before, and the thought made him feel gripped by sudden fear, but Eönwë already had one of the buns in hand.

“Are you ready, Mairon?” he said, eyes twinkling merrily. “On the count of three. One, two...”

“Three!” they exclaimed in unison and bit into their cinnamon rolls.

“Ow, hot!” Eönwë cried, but he was smiling, nevertheless.

“Mmm, it’s good,” Mairon decided. “Perhaps we should let them cool a little before eating more of them.”

They put the towel over the buns, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence before Eönwë called his name in a voice that was soft like a feather. “Mairon.”

It felt like both an invitation and a command. Without thinking, Mairon closed the distance between them. The warm aroma of cinnamon lingered in the air around Eönwë as he leaned forward to whisper in Mairon’s ear.

“I’d like to kiss you, if you please.”

Mairon didn’t dare to breathe. “Please do.”

He gasped when Eönwë’s lips brushed his, touching them tenderly before very gently biting him. Mairon parted his lips and tasted cinnamon in Eönwë’s mouth. He pulled Eönwë’s perfect body against his chest, and for a while, he totally forgot about the cinnamon rolls.

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