Come to Tirion by Elrond's Library  

Here’s the thing.

The world is full of mysteries and this is one of them. I have no idea how this happened. Why this happened. What I did to deserve such treatment and care.

But I am laying here, in a comfortable but unfamiliar bed, and Írissë is snoring next to me.

Rude.

Let’s back up.

King Finwë hosts a ball every year, on the anniversary of when he arrived in Aman the first time, with only High King Ingwë and lost Elwë for company. Or, as he puts it, the best guess approximation, since they weren’t in the habit of keeping track of dates then. It wasn’t important. Maybe he’s lying, and picked a day at random? Maybe the Valar told him later?

I’m getting off track.

The ball.

Ostensibly it’s an homage to the mercy of the Valar, a time to thank them for saving us from the darkness of Endórë and giving us the light of the Trees. High King Ingwë doesn’t host such an event, usually, so it’s worth the trip from Valimar to Tirion.

Really it’s just an excuse to party, to get completely wasted on the King’s wine. Which is, I think, exactly what I did.

So much of this is a blur, forgive me.

The music was excellent, getting more and more bawdy as the event wore on. Especially after King Finwë left, and the grandchildren of Indis were left to host.

Prince Findaráto is a relentless flirt, and maybe someday I’ll do more than turn him down gently, but my attention was on a more intriguing dancer last night.

Princess Írissë … Valar forgive me, she was captivating.

Still is, even as she snores beside me. Her dark hair is a cloud of unbraided silk on the pillow. Perhaps, if I run my fingers through it now, she won’t wake.

She danced with the joyful abandon of one who is utterly confident in her body. All graceful limbs and loose dark hair (the scandal that would cause in Valimar!), with some of it shaved down to the scalp on one side (and the scandal that did cause last night!), her jewelry understated compared to some of the other glimmering peacocks in attendance.

And her eyes, her glimmering, confident eyes that pinned you, held you, kept you wanting more.

I was lost before I even started.

So really, is it actually my fault that I got caught up in the circle of her arms? Am I to blame, then, if the way she whispered in my ear, and then kissed it, nipping at it with gentle teeth, set me shivering with desire? If the way her hands wandered around my waist made my stomach flutter, warmth pooling low in my gut as we danced the night away?

Surely not.

Valar, I wanted her. And she … she wanted me.

With sweet words and gentle hands she pulled me along the halls of Tirion’s palace, guiding me beyond the public sphere and into the definitely more private halls. The art on the walls had absolutely been made by novice and apprentice hands as children grew, but their placement spoke to the pride King Finwë had for his children and grandchildren.

Írissë led me to her room, the long hallway bearing tags with the names of various princes, intermixed seemingly at random. I’m sure there’s a pattern to it, but Írissë moved down the hall so quickly, my hand tangled hers, that I could barely see anything.

She led me in, a crooked, predatory smile on her face as she closed the door. The lock clicked in the quiet room. She twirled me again, as she had done on the dance floor, and stepped forward, knocking me off balance.

My back hit the door, and her lips were on mine. I kissed her back, of course, breathing fast, heart beating faster. The wine dulled all the edges of her sharp teeth, canines longer than most as a result of being in the Vala Oromë’s presence for long periods of time.

I floated on a sea of sensation as she plundered my mouth. Her hands were everywhere, her body pinning me against the door.

“Amárië,” she whispered, my head cradled between her calloused hands. It felt safe. I shivered, hearing my name on her lips.

“Írissë,” I whispered back. “I need you.”

She hummed as she traced the edge of my ear with one, very slow moving finger. I shivered, despite the warmth of her embrace.

Look. My ears are especially sensitive, and she was being so gentle. I will not apologize for my body being as it is.

“Let’s get you out of this gown then,” Írissë murmured, winking. She twisted me around and pushed me against the door again, her fingers immediately tugging at the lacing of my gown. I whimpered, or maybe moaned, at the treatment.

By the time I was free to turn again and let the gown fall to my feet, Írissë had already unlaced hers as well. The white lace pooled around her full hips, her chemise hung off one shoulder wantonly. A tattoo was half-hidden under the chemise, something floral and delicate.

I think I left my dress somewhere near the door? Hopefully it’s not too wrinkled.

Her bare shoulder was enough, I wanted to see more. I pushed at her, towards the bed, her dress falling to tangle in her long legs. She kicked it carelessly in the direction of a closet, I think. I was too focused on getting her corset loosened enough to take it off.

Eventually, with many kisses and laughter and fumbling, drunken fingers, she was naked, and so was I.

She’s so fucking pretty. A treat for all the senses.

Írissë tugged me onto the bed, positioning me to kneel in front of her. She kissed my shoulder, thighs bracketing my own, and her fingers danced in my hair, unravelling my braids with sensual care. If there was any conversation then, I remember it not. Just the feeling of being even more bare, even more vulnerable than I was without clothes.

“Have you done this before?” Írissë asked, her voice low and sultry. Her hands were on my hips, her breasts brushing against my back, nipple piercings solid in contrast with the softness of her tits.

I twisted, half-facing her. “Would that change your mind, Princess?”

She laughed, and I think I fell in love with her in that moment. Just a little. “No, of course not.”

I shook my head, relaxing into her chest. “No, I haven’t. But I am desperate for you, Írissë.”

Her hands dipped between my thighs, two fingers opening, seeking the source of that delicious heat. I may have made some undignified noises. She held me tight to her chest as she played me like an instrument, my legs spreading involuntarily, hips rocking in time with her meddlesome, talented fingers.

She buried her face in my neck, sucking bruises that – Oh Valar. I just know those will be hard to hide.

Fuck.

Okay.

Worth it.

Írissë moaned as my breath hitched, body getting tenser and heart pounding as I reached my climax. She kept her fingers moving, and I shuddered and quaked until I couldn’t take it any longer. How rude.

I know she held me until I could open my eyes again. I think it didn’t take long, but I honestly can’t say.

But she was patient, and kind, even through my fumbling as I tried to reciprocate. She guided me to her own entrance, showed me the way she liked to touch and be touched. It was new but so good, warm and wet and all Írissë. I could drown in the way she moaned as I kissed her breasts, sucking at the expanses of soft flesh with abandon. I could get drunk off of her alone, nevermind the wine.

She groaned my name as she climaxed, which felt like a victory.

I fell asleep in her arms, head pillowed on her shoulder. Which is not where I woke, for Írissë seems to sprawl in her sleep. Her face is so relaxed like this, so sweet.

The Treelight is peeking from behind the curtain, soft gold. The world is quiet, its mysteries unfathomable. I’m not in the mood to question them. I am, in fact, very comfortable here in Írissë’s bed.

I should come to Tirion more often. 

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