A Great Madness of Lust by starshadeemily  

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Chapter 1

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The aurulent rays of Laurelin turned the white flowers on the vanity to gold, and the bird outside the window made a sweet music, and a gentle zephyr caressed the ivory drapes, but amidst the bliss of Aman, Anairë had a problem. The dress revealed far too much. 

“Do you like it?” Lalwendë asked, giggling as she patted the elaborate beadwork on the bodice which she had spent hours and hours on.

“It—this shade of blue is a good color on me. And…it matches what my husband will be wearing.”

Anairë looked in the mirror with Lalwendë and her handmaiden Alassië peering over her shoulders, and she blushed at the sight of her ample cleavage, lifted towards the firmament by her corset, and revealed, oh so explicitly and shamelessly revealed, by the low neckline.

“Lalwen—” her voice was strained with ruefulness and sadness as she tugged hopelessly at the gown, which being cinched in tight would not be moved up one jot. “I cannot wear this to the Queen’s Spring Ball. I would look like a hussy.”

“I am going to the selfsame ball, and my gown reveals more.” Lalwendë stepped around and spread her arms, proudly displaying her own creation, a scandalous black and silver thing with decolletage nearly to her navel. 

Anairë didn’t quite know what to say; a protest arose in her throat that she was not like Lalwendë, who had no reputation left to uphold, who was going to the ball not because she liked anyone there but because there would be men, and she intended to bring one home. Because she was not a scold, Anairë never spoke of it, but she was no fool nor was she blind, and she had seen the men sneaking in and out of Lalwendë’s wing of the palace, and wist well their purpose in climbing in through the windows at the waxing of Telperion, and fleeing ere the Mingling.

“Lalwen—I am Prince Nolofinwë’s wife—”

“And Arno would like it.” Lalwendë grinned, and traced the beaded neckline, her fingernail skimming Anairë’s soft skin.

“I am not dressing for Aracano, I am dressing for the other ladies.”

“And I gave the gown this kind of heart-shaped dagging that is now in fashion, and this is paisley, also in fashion, and the very long sleeves and the v-shaped waist; you are nothing if not with the times, and I dare say your friends shall like it.”

“I am nothing if not large-breasted,” Anairë lamented and cupped one of her breasts, grown fat from nursing two children already. Her bosom had once been the perfect size—she had once been the perfect size—neither too small not too large according to the measure of the Noldor in those days, but she had waxed great and had not lost the weight, no matter how she tried. Her corset concealed the rolls of her stomach, and the wide skirt of the gown favored her hips, but nothing could be done about her breasts—nay, but well-meaning Lalwendë had only made it worse.

“And I have next to none,” Lalwendë laughed, pinching her flat chest through the thin silk, but Anairë thought she heard a slippery spectre of jealousy sliding in her sparkling voice.

“Aracano will like it, I promise. And you will dance with him, nay? He will reward you handsomely afterwards,” Lalwendë smirked and winked devilishly.

“Lalwen!” Anairë despaired. “I will not discuss our marriage bed. Besides, ‘tis not yet the appointed day, either.”

Lalwendë roared with laughter and patted Anairë’s shoulder. “You still abide by that custom? Coitus every two weeks, right after dinner? Anyë my friend, I promise that it will not hurt either of you to do it more often—”

But Anairë had sat back down at the vanity and was doing her makeup so as to not be made to continue this impolite conversation. Her round eyes she lined with black, and the lids shaded with purple, and her lips painted a deep maroon. Meanwhile, Alassië fixed the white veil over her head, and secured it with a silver circlet that dangled with strands of pearls, for since she had become a mother Anairë had begun to cover her hair in public as a show of modesty, but natheless the veil was not long enough in the back to fully cover her great plaits, which tied with golden ribbons hung all the way to her ankles. Anairë looked once more in the mirror, and accepting that she was as ready as she could ever be, motioned to Lalwendë to get going.

 

In the frescoed atrium of the house Nolofinwë stood waiting with high-spirited Findecano, newly come to manhood though his brother was but a toddler—and thank Varda that they had such good help to watch the little one—but to Anairë’s disappointment Nolofinwë said nothing at all about the dress, neither praising it nor chastising it, but he nodded at her courteously, as was his wont, and took her arm in his, and started towards the King’s palace, connected to their own by many long and gilded corridors. Lalwendë followed close behind.

They caught up with Eärwen and Arafinwë in the airy foyer without the King’s ballroom, and the women embraced gladly, as if they had not seen each other only the evening before, nor every day as long as Arafinwë and the princess of Alqualondë were in Tirion.

But Eärwen’s eyes wandered to Anairë’s breasts and she whispered “Quite the saucy figure you’ve become, my friend. Is that Lalwendë’s make?” Her lips curled up in such a cheeky smile as embarrassed Anairë, and she ducked down her head until the heat subsided from her cheeks.

They passed through the massive double doors into a large room where the vaulted ceiling, tiled with mirrors, reflected the light from windows of many colors, and sauntering into this brilliance, the lords’ and ladies’ heels clacked on glistening floors of chalcedony and quartz, and the jewels on their raiment and in their hair glittered like dew in the morning sun.

Gladly the King and Queen welcomed their family, and showed them to the guests who had arrived early, and soon there was much merriment, for the food and drinks were provided in abundance, and there were flautists and violinists, harpists and harpsicordists, and the melliferous music enlivened the spirits of all the nobility gathered there.

As the party progressed, the convivial ladies of high society clustered together and became chattier, and cattier, and Anairë’s sometimes-friend Astarissë, known for her haughtiness, remarked with disdain that Nerdanel had not yet joined them, but instead stood apart with her husband and the other smiths, and was deep in conversation with those who were her fellows. Anairë said naught to that; it did seem rude that Nerdanel shunned them and did not converse with the other ladies, but if Nerdanel had come over there, would Anairë have even known what to say to her? A gulf yawned between her and the wife of Fëanaro, which she knew not how to close, nor especially wanted to, having nothing in common with her aside from their sex and their high estate. But as her friends spoke more and more contemptuously of Nerdanel, of her plain looks and of her segregation from them, Anairë quit their company, for it sat ill with her to gossip about a family member, but she was loath to spoil the mood by rebuking her peers, and thus to avoid being made to participate in such unkindness she sought the drinks table, where the satyric Lalwendë, another frequent victim of gossip, was to be found deliberating on which drink to take.

“I have met the most wonderful young man,” Lalwendë giggled and twirled the iridescent beads that hung from her tiara, “See him there? In red, the shorter one with the comely brows.” 

Anairë followed Lalwendë’s pointed finger and saw her quarry. “Lalwen, he is scarcely more than a boy! Why, he is no older than Findecano.”

“He is a man yet,” Lalwendë said suavely. 

Anairë exhaled heavily, and accepting that there was really nothing to be done about correcting Lalwen’s errantness, changed course. “It has not escaped me that Findecano has not spoken to any maidens yet, but merely congregates with his bachelor friends,” Anairë said, putting all her motherly disapproval into that last word. “‘Twould please me well if you, my sister, would pause in your lecherousness and employ your matchmaking talents to pair him up with a suitable girl around his age. See that maiden yonder? In the lavender gown with the flowers in her hair; her mother is my friend and I would not be displeased to have her join our family. Contrive it somehow that Finno comes to dance with her. Her name is Calimairë and she is a good, Valar-fearing girl, and Eru knows he has need of a girl like her.”

Lalwendë smiled devilishly, “Say it and it is done.” But she had other things to contrive, and she sought out not Finno but his father, who was gathered with his brother Arafinwë and other lords of the court, utterly heedless of the gay celebrations happening all around them. Loitering by them, Lalwendë overheard their conversation.

“It is imperative that we rezone the lower parts of the city. The residential areas on the second and third levels have no markets nearby, and the residents must travel to the first level to procure all their goods. It is plain to me that we must introduce commerce to the lower level.”

“Fëanaro opposes it,” Arafinwë said. “He believes that it is best for all things to be centralized.”

“I know well Curufinwë’s position, but I defy it, and I am dedicated to ensuring that our city implements the best policy.” 

Oh Nolofinwë! Ever the politician, ever so serious, ever the enemy of fun. But therein lay his weakness! Lalwen hied to find his adversary, for to draw him out.

Fëanaro and Nerdanel were to be found on the opposite side of the hall near one of the great columns carven in the form of a tree, and were equally ignorant of the party, being deep in some discussion about smithcraft.

“Nertë, darling,” Lalwen exclaimed, and indecorously interrupting the conversation she took her law-sister’s arm, “I can’t help but notice that you are left out. Come, come, my sister, let’s get away from these tiresome men and make merry.” And she made to drag Nerdanel onto the dancefloor, but was stayed by Fëanaro, who put his hand on his wife’s shoulder with a good-natured smile. “Be patient a bit, Irimë, and let me have the first dance. My lady?”

But when Fëanaro took his wife by the hand and led her to the dance floor, Nolofinwë took notice, and he excused himself from Arafinwë to come to Anairë’s side where she still lingered apart from everyone. 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” He bowed and kissed her lace-gloved hand. It was a needless formality for one who was no ambitious suitor but her august husband, but the romance of it positively tickled Anairë, and she agreed with a demure smile and a batting of her lashes. 

Nolofinwë led her gracefully across the floor, gliding like an elegant hawk on the wind, who smoothly wheels through the air with no expense. He led her into a rapid and complicated dance, fancy footwork almost too quick to follow, twists and turns requiring utmost agility. He was showing off, she realized, eager to outdo Fëanaro who danced with Nerdanel nearby, but Anairë was relieved that this time he was not looking at Fëanaro but at her.

The orchestra moved into a gentler music, and he drew her close, his wide hand warm on her lower back, and he whispered in her ear, “I see you wear Lalyë’s make. It suits you well.” A feline hunger laced his voice, and he suddenly pulled apart and spun Anairë around so he could get a good look as the voluminous skirt twirled around her. But when he tugged her close again, it was not her eyes he met, but rather he stared at her breasts. 

“I do not tell you often enough but you are beautiful, Anairë,” he whispered, and it really was true, he did not tell her often enough, and therefore the utterance of praise was as precious to her as ambergis, as cherished as frankincense, as vasodilating as a hot bath, and she felt the blood of love rush to her loins. 

“You flatter me, my Lord.”

“I speak only sooth, you are the fairest lady at this dance—nay do not object, my lady wife. Let me compliment you.” 

Anairë blushed, and nothing was helped by the fact that the orchestra had moved into a slow song, and she and Nolofinwë had naught to do but look at each other and sway back and forth until a faster movement began; verily Nolofinwë had five full minutes to feast upon the sight of his wife’s ample bosom. His hand strayed up her back, moving from its position in the small of her back to her shoulder blade, and thence to the space under her arm, palm almost touching the root of her breast. Anairë quook with excitement at that tender touch, but she looked over Nolofinwë’s shoulder and focused on the other dancers lest she entertain unbecoming thoughts.

When the song ended, Nolofinwë wrenched his voracious gaze away from her, and retreated back to the perimeter of the room, under a convincing pretense of getting finger cakes to eat. He ate slowly, even more slowly than his wont, being very polite and refined in his habits, and thus delayed his return to the dancefloor, for he had become aroused, envisioning  his cock sliding betwixt his lady wife’s breasts, and he would master himself ere he returned. Although he knew that no one there would endeavor to read his thoughts, he liked not to feel such temptation in public—it was indecent, even more indecent than his wife’s gown. But it was not her fault, it was Lalwen’s, and Nolofinwë perceived that Lalwendë had contrived for him to be tempted for her own evil amusement, but he was a disciplined man, and it would be no issue to suppress the concupiscent thoughts that plagued him. 

But Nolofinwë could not escape his doom, and unwittingly he accepted it from cunning Lalwendë, who came by offering two goblets of mead. “For my brother and my sister,” she said with the sweetest most demure most innocent little smile she could muster, and verily it was no issue for Lalwendë to feign purity, who had learned to wear a thousand masks for to employ on the chaste and the lewd alike; and as Nolofinwë and Anairë drank deeply of the mead they remarked on its delightful flavor and returned the cups with warm thanks and smiles of gratitude. 

Thinking that he had washed down his troubles, Nolofinwë led his wife back onto the dance floor, and the music was galloping swiftly this time, and he danced vigorously with her, twirling her around and even lifting her up in the air, passing up no opportunities to showcase their prowess as a pair.

Their faces and chests became flushed, but they scarcely marked it—what else but the consequence of physical exertion? What else the sweat on their thighs but the product of exercise? What the warmth in their nethers but the loosening effects of the alcohol?

Once more Nolofinwë found himself unable to tear his eyes away from his wife’s breasts, but he failed to suppress his hunger for her, and he felt his cock stiffen with the incarnadine blood of ravenous lust. He pulled her closer, hoping thereby to conceal his erection from the crowd, but Anairë felt it and her painted eyes widened. But Nolofinwë’s face was impassive and inscrutable, concealing his true feelings with thick drapes of impenetrable stoicism, well-practiced at court, and only the hardness pressing against her hip betrayed his state. They continued dancing as if nothing were amiss, but Anairë’s cunt flared with heat, her stomach tightened, and she felt felt sick, positively sick with desire, like a mariner upon the sea, bewildered by the waves and winds, positioned to vomit forth a report of her lust. She pleaded with her eyes, beseeched her lord to somehow make himself less desirable, for he was so very comely, and so very tall, and his shoulders so very broad, and his hand on her back so very large and warm and tender, his kohl-lined eyes enchanting in their staid solemnity, and she despaired, for it seemed that naught could allay her zealous lust but the procreative act—oh but procreative no longer! For this was a lust for lust’s sake, a lust of lascivious decadence with no thoughts for the designs of Eru, and Anairë, most holy, hid her face in shame.

“My lord,” she breathed, feet faltering, face flushing rose-red as she felt fluids seeping out of her. “I think I need to sit down.”

At this time it was late in the party, and many of the guests were drunk and carousing gaily, and lovers were slipping away to private corners for clandestine trysts, and deeming that their absence would be little missed, Nolofinwë took his wife’s hand and quit the ballroom. Once they were out of the foyer and past the gaggling guests and busy serving staff, he hastened into a half jog, pulling his wife in tow down the portrait-lined corridor.

“Nolvo, what is the matter?” Anairë panted, struggling to keep up.

“The matter is that Lalwen has drugged us.” He said grimly. “There was an aphrodisiac in that drink.”

“Ai!” Anairë lamented. “O wherefore would our sister do such a thing? Where did she procure such a dreadful physic?”

But Nolofinwë answered not, and he swiftly ducked into an open drawing room on the right, and slammed the door behind them, scrambling to bolt the lock in place. Hastily he drew the curtains over round windows that looked into a dim courtyard; an eastward facing room this was, darker than those that faced the west, and for that cause it was lit with gay lanterns in many-colored shades, each one illumined by one of Fëanaro’s jewels, yellow unlike the usual blue, each one embracing the lovers in a palsy glow. 

“We are alone here,” Nolofinwë said huskily, and seized Anairë to kiss her violently, nearly toppling her over, and indeed a less fit man might have fallen over himself, so uninhibited was he in claiming her plush lips, so zealous to press his tongue betwixt her teeth and drink the air from her lungs. He withdrew from her and began attacking her gown. “We need you out of this,” he growled as he despoiled her. 

“Watch the buttons—”

“Anyë, have faith in me.”

Anairë stayed her tongue and struggled with the laces at her sides while Nolofinwë handled the buttons on her back, and thereafter roughly yanked the bodice down to her waist, and assaulted the front laces of the corset, holding back curses that in their frivolity women should contrive to have laces not merely on their backs but on their fronts too; but he did not curse in the presence of ladies, and grit his teeth until he had removed the corset and pulled down her chemise likewise, and so freed her buxom bosom, broad and bouncing in the kindhearted light.

They were pendulous tits, circled all over with deep stretchmarks, the nipples large and brownish-pink, full, so very full with the fat of pregnancy never lost. As the hot storms of summer descend upon the waiting land, Nolofinwë threw himself upon her, sinking his face betwixt her, kissing, kissing, kissing her all over, and heedless in his fervor he moaned in his throat, as deep as the lowing of a bull. He took her nipples in his mouth and sucked upon them, biting her playfully like a cat and causing her to squirm.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, as if the heat of his salaciousness had dried the water from his mouth. “My wife, my lovely wife,” before he fell upon her again, perfervidly sucking up her skin into his mouth and leaving purple bruises, like violets, her favorite flower, blossoming on her breasts. 

But Anairë pushed Nolofinwë away asudden, and begged him to disrobe. His silver belt, hung with bells and jewels, jangled to the floor; his outer robe, his tunic and his shirt he cast carelessly onto an armchair, and with a loud exhalation he sank onto a green sofa, pulling her down to kneel between his spread legs with her face right before his cock.

“Wet it,” he commanded softly, and the vulgar forthrightedness of that directive only flared the flames of her lubriciousness higher, for it was not his custom to so boldly demand of her an unclean act, though he had, by subtle persuasion, solicited this wicked deed before. But drugged as she was, Anairë’s faculties were all muddled, and her morals fallen down like stricken fences in a storm, and naught trammeled her in her pursuance of obedience, and without hesitation she took his cock into her mouth, and wrapped it in her painted lips.

Fain she sucked her lord husband, her cheeks hollowing from the suction, twisting her mouth and running her tongue around his head as it were a delectable confection. Hungrily, hungrily she took him in her mouth, become now as insatiable as her dripping cunt, as desperate to be filled by him; hungrily she swallowed him like one who has gone days without food finally given meat, and in her ardor her spittle dripped down the bottomside of his cock and onto his testicles, matting the hair. 

“I said wet it, not suck it,” Nolofinwë teased and pulled her off of him by the back of her neck, still covered by her veil. He slapped his cock against her cheek before motioning her to put her breasts on him, slickened now in preparation.

How it pleased him to fuck her bountiful tits, the warmth of them pressed around his cock, enveloping him fully. Anairë held her breasts together in her hands and bounced up and down on her knees, and in turn Nolofinwë thrust upwards, and each thrust of his cock was like a lightning bolt of pleasure. The drug had made his whole body more sensitive; even the slightest touch from her made his whole body to quake, and he, who was so controlled, knew he could not long endure. Nolofinwë had become skilled in retaining his seed; oft when he lay with Anairë he did not spill, for to spill wastes a man’s vital energy, and weakens fëa and hröa both, and in time by over-spending a man may diminish, never regaining his former fortitude. But a woman’s lust is bottomless, and her needs never-ending, and he had always seen to it that Anairë came lest her lust come to rule her and so usurp his place as her governor. And forsooth Anairë was close to coming; to use her breasts on her husband inflamed her heart, and her pussy clenched around nothing, drawing itself closer and closer to paroxysm, closer and closer to the spasms of climax. Nolofinwë reached under her veil and touched her ear, that delicate erogenous zone, and that was too much for her, and her orgasm took her in a fit of bliss. The world swam and her mind was flooded, but she had enough cognisance to know that Nolofinwë was likewise close, and according to some newly-acquired instinct she suddenly took him in her mouth. With a jerk of his hips he came, filling her throat with his hot seed, and she swallowed it hungrily, who had aforetime always spat in disgust, and the thick semen coated the back of her throat, and his taste was rich and salty on her tongue. 

Anairë looked up at him deliriously, her chin covered in spit, her lip paint ruined, eyes blank and heavy, and Nolofinwë thought he would spill once more, such a marvel was the sight: his lady wife ruined, a disgusting, disgraceful display, but so thrilling was it that she was become a whore for him. But Nolofinwë was a wise lord, and regretting that she had swallowed his seed, he resolved to swallow hers in turn, for he was not one to merely take from his woman, but would give to her in equal measure. And moreover, his climax had nowise lessened the effects of the drug, and he was compelled by a violent need to devour her entirely, the clean and unclean parts of her alike, and thereupon he pushed her, naked and glowing, to the floor amidst a circle of velvet-upholstered sofas, and got between her legs.

Anairë did not protest, did not beg him to refrain from subjecting himself to the unpleasant (as it seemed to her) odor and taste of her vagina, did not whine that it was improper, but rather she whined in pleasure as soon as he pulled apart her labia for to feast. He fell upon her like a lion, hungrily lapping up her slick, even sucking on her hair to taste as much of her as he could. He buried his face in her vulva and fucked her with his tongue, in and out of her sensitive entrance, eliciting a cry from his lady, even like the bleat of a lamb. But despite his intoxicated state, Nolofinwë retained enough sense to know that letting her cry like this could be perilous to them both, and to be overheard would seal their doom and bring shame upon their esteemed heads, and concerned for her honor even more than his own, he took her discarded drawers and stuffed as much of them as he possibly could into her open mouth, with the rest of the white fabric sticking out. To her surprise, she rather liked it, choking on her own underwear, eyes watering, cheeks full to aching, robbed of the faculty of speech, a wicked thing for one of the Quendi, the speaking people. Anairë rolled her hips upwards to Nolofinwë’s face as he lapped her clit with rapid nods of his head, and she dug her long nails into the carpet beneath her, trying to last as long as she could ere she came again, for pleasure bubbled in the cauldron of her cunt, and the steam of bliss fogged her head until the pressure of it rose and rose and rose and rose. Nolofinwë reached up to grip her right breast, now become so tender, so tumescent, and he wrapped his other arm around her fat thigh, digging his nails into her cellulite, and Anairë folded her legs over his shoulders. 

It came to pass that the tension built in her stomach once more, and under her husband’s ministrations the wave of her climax mounted and mounted and broke, and she bit down on her gag, swallowing as best she could the cries that crowded clamoring to be released in her throat. Her whole body felt swollen with redolent pleasure, like overripe fruit that threatens to burst its skin with the juices of its maturity, and verily her breasts, hot and heavy, felt ready to burst under Nolofinwë’s heedlessly punishing grip.

But Anairë had no time to recover from her orgasm, for Nolofinwë saw that despite having spent but a little while ago, his member was turgid yet, even as red and stiff as it had been ere sweet Anairë took his seed into her precious mouth, and a great madness of lust was upon him, and being thuswise affected he penetrated her, drove his cock into her pulsating pussy, and ravished his wife.

Careful, careful, Nolofinwë reminded himself, and held tight the leash on his body, permitting himself only slow and deliberate thrusts, evenly measured like the steps of patient mules on a treadmill, but the leash slipped, the fastenings snapped, and the animal of his body began to fuck her hard. Tears burned in Anairë’s eyes, seawater washing the makeup down the shores of her cheeks, now turned gray like the sands of the sea-strand. Nolofinwë exulted at her debasement, his woman fallen all apart, her dignity dissolved, her nobility wasted by the force of his prowess, and he hated himself for it. He hated that he should delight in the destruction of a righteous woman, nay of any woman, but hitherto self-loathing had never stopped him from fucking her, nor could it possibly pose any impediment now, and he relented not, though his hröa strained and his fëa tired, but he pounded her, and bit her shoulder as he were a beast, verily as he were a tiger and she a deer.   

Anairë was overwhelmed and frightened, unused to such terrible overstimulation, and her very mind splintered apart, fractured under the force of an ecstasy her hröa could not contain. She did not tell him to stop, though the bond between their souls was wide open, for she could not, nay she could not utter such a prayer if she tried, just as he could not control himself neither, and her fëa held tightly onto his, clinging white-knuckled to the light of his life to guide her like a life-preserver in a storm at sea. And his fëa embraced her in turn, and there was an intercourse of their spirits, that is, the realization of marriage and the greatest bliss an elf can ever know. They tumbled in the waters of each other’s minds, losing all sense of direction, shedding the boundaries of you and I, knowing nothingness and suchness all at once.

Despite himself, despite the peril he knew it to be to spill his essence twice in one day, Nolofinwë ejaculated once more, releasing what little seed had accumulated since his last expenditure. He took the stuffing from Anairë’s mouth and kissed her as he came, as she came in conjunction with him, sharing in his orgasm through their bond, though in sooth it had become difficult for her to tell when one orgasm ended and the next one began, and during the duration of their intercourse she had not entirely ceased in coming, and this was but one more wave breaking on the coast of her consciousness, and dragging the sands of thought back into the concupiscent deep.

But the intercourse did not end there, and Nolofinwë continued, driven on by a lunatic frenzy, nor did he remove his lips from hers. He tasted like her fluids, his whole face perfumed with her musk, and the smell that had always disgusted her was now ambrosial, and fain she licked it from his tongue. She saw that what she did was abhorrent, but she could not rue it, nay she could not do anything but make foul and filthy love to him, and she locked him to her with her legs.

Far longer had they endured than they had ever thought possible, and they had gone past the point of danger, as soon became evident, and at the last the Prince grew weary and his limbs began to ache, and the flame of his spirit flickered, and he collapsed, unable to fuck her any longer, no matter the dauntless perseverance of his erection.

Panic struck Anairë like lightning. “Are we going to die?” she whimpered, feeling the flame of her own spirit grow dim, and she remembered the cautionary tales of elves who had overexerted themselves, and fallen into a coma from which they could not wake, and only by the arts of Estë were recovered.

“We will not die,” Nolofinwë grunted ere he swooned and oblivion overcame him. Anairë sobbed once, and then she too knew no more.

 

It came to pass that some time later, he knew not how long, Nolofinwë stirred to wakefulness, and regretted it almost immediately, for his head ached as it were cloven in twain, and he felt like to vomiting, and the dreamless stupor that had preceded this misery had at least been without pain. He extricated himself from Anairë, herself beginning to stir, whom he had apparently crushed with his weight the whole time they were out, and to his immense relief he saw that his cock was beginning to soften, and was only at half-mast, but it was discolored and something about it felt not-quite-right. 

But before he could do aught else, he heard a doorknob turn, and to his horror perceived that the door wherethrough they had entered was not the only door into the room, but that another connected this drawing room to the adjacent salon. In a panic, Nolofinwë threw himself atop Anairë again for to cover her nakedness with his own. It was in some sense a relief that the intruder was none other than Lalwendë, but Nolofinwë was ill-pleased to see the cause of their affliction.

“What did you do to us?” His voice was strained, hoarse as if from screaming, and he found it trying to draw enough breath to speak.

“I but gave you something to quicken your blood.” She hurried to kneel beside her brother and law-sister on the floor, sweat-soaked and shivering in a bar of minglingtime light peeking through the heavy drapes. “Oh, Aracano, you look positively dreadful. Let me touch your brow—Oh! You are cold! And the light is dim in your eyes. And Anyë, stars above, you are cold too, my poor girl. Goodness, I thought I gave you but a small dose. Did I know what it would do I would not have given it you, I promise, my lovelies. Forgive me, will you?”

She does not regret drugging us in the first place, Nolofinwë thought as he staggered to pick up his clothes and attired himself stiffly. Lalwendë helped Anairë into her dress again, but could not tighten the corset, because she knew she was going to be sick were her stomach cinched in at all. Anairë was, in sooth, positively veritably miserable, and the cruel nausea that was upon her was more frightening than had been her erstwhile lust, and the thought of vomiting horrified her.

“What time is it, dear?” Anairë rasped as she clung onto Lalwendë for support. “Is the party….”

“Oh the party is long ended, yea long ended and everyone gone home hours ago. Father and Mother asked for you, and your own noble parents, Anyë, but I invented a story to excuse your unannounced exit, and methinks they believed it.”

“And what was that?”

“I said that you were gone to see the baby, to put Turucano to bed.”

Nolofinwë snorted. “You are a poor liar, Lalwen. I expected better of you—”

“Ai!” Anairë bemoaned. “The Queen must think me awfully discourteous. I must repair this somehow—” But ere she could say more, she doubled over and put her hand over her mouth, driven to the point of throwing up by the sudden excitation, and it was all she could do to swallow the bile back down her throat, and she saw that in her weakened state her expended fëa had not the full faculty of control over her hröa that it should have had, and the terror at this realization made her all the sicker. 

“My love,” Nolofinwë held Anairë, care and concern graven on his face, and his own illness he disregarded for her sake. He turned to Lalwendë. “Is this the effect of the drug, or of the disastrous expense?” 

Her brow wrinkled and she frowned. “Both, methinks. Oh Nolvo, Anyë, I apologize. I did not intend for this misfortune.”

Nolofinwë scowled at her, but he lifted Anairë into his arms, carried her as he had once carried her over the threshold when they were wedded, and he hoped no one would mark their sorry state on the long walk back to their wing of the palace complex.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

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