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A place of thousand caves Menegroth was indeed.
Nerwen had been here for several years now, and yet she was sure that she had not even seen a fraction of all the chambers and halls this subterranean palace had to offer. Celeborn was a willing enough guide, and a patient one at that, though even he had admitted at one point that he would once in a while stumble across a door or a passage he had never seen before, despite the fact that he had spent near all his life in Thingol’s halls.
Yet she had found a few places already that she liked to frequent, and a little map of all these places had been developing in her mind, making it possible for her to find her way around the caves alone as well as she did in Celeborn’s company. Of course, sometimes she would act as if she had forgotten the way to a certain place, just to see the look on Celeborn’s face when he could make himself useful for her. She liked him a lot, more than was likely proper for two people sharing the same great-grandfather, and she liked his serene, soothing company that made her feel at home even at those times when the absence of her brothers, the ache for her mother’s embrace and her father’s smile threatened to eat through her heart…
The only person who’s company she craved more than Celeborn’s in these vast halls was their queen, the unearthly being who had woken her own hidden talents, who had sparked the flame of magic in Nerwen’s soul, her mentor, who had been like a divine mother to her in these last years.
Of course, a queen’s duties were manifold, and often it would take weeks for her to summon Nerwen for another lesson. And so Nerwen’s company was rather limited to her maids, Celeborn and a select few of the ladies and lords of the court, who kept her entertained well enough most of the time. Too much a princess of the Noldor, though, she was not made for a life of idleness, of songs and poems and walks through silver-lit halls, and so she had often found herself drawn to the forges far below the living quarters, to the fires and the anvils and the music of hammers that she had grown up with in Tirion. It was an endeavor not much appreciated by Thingol, her host, her king for the time she dwelled in these halls, and she had desisted of giving in to her inclinations after he had talked quite sternly with her eldest brother about his sister’s strange pursuits, which were not appropriate for a noblewoman in his eyes. Finrod understood her desire for fire and metal and creation, yet he had told her to behave like one of the Sindar if she wanted to live among them, for the goodwill of the king was the only thing that granted them the privilege of entrance to Doriath, and Nerwen had agreed, begrudgingly though, and had not returned to the forges ever since.
She had channeled her need for creation into other fields, and had spent endless hours honing the skills Melian had shared with her. It had paid off well in the end, for what could be sweeter, brighter in these dark caverns than Melian’s praise, her admission that she had found an even more brilliant student in her than she had anticipated?
Yet there was only so much time she could spent exploring her hidden talents, since she was a mere Elf after all, and a young one at that, and Melian had warned her again and again of over-exerting herself. Nerwen knew that her powers came with a danger, lurking on the edge of her perception, ready to pull her into the darkness should she use up all of her light.
She would not succumb, this she had sworn to Melian, and so she made sure to divide her time well when she was not with her mentor, spending at least two thirds of it in Celeborn’s company, learning about the ways of the Sindar and about her serene guide himself. He had led her out into the woods of Doriath as well, many a time, and to the groves and creeks his people held dear, and many hours they had spent sitting and listening to the music of the water, and often Nerwen’s eyes and heart had burned with the memory of her beautiful Falmarin mother, of her mother’s beloved Alqualonde in the days of the Trees, of the many visits the swan-maiden had paid to her father in the company of her children …
And then she was summoned by Melian again, and it was as if she was breathing the air of Valinor once more, as if the light of the Trees had never been extinguished, and when she left the queen’s chambers, she knew once again why she was here, why she had traveled through the ice with her brothers, uncles and cousins, instead of staying behind with her parents, in the stifling haven that Tirion had become to them.
She had not been with Melian for a fortnight now, and already she was itching for new lessons, restless and impatient with everything around her, sadly even Celeborn, quite honestly the last person to deserve to become a target of her current irritability.
Celeborn led her to a hall now she had never before seen, to take her thoughts off whatever was burdening her, he said. It was a square in those quarters were the more distant relatives of Thingol resided, of noble birth still, but thanes more than kin to their ruler.
It was a vast square, with thick, ornate pillars and beautiful wall hangings, decorated with hunting scenes and scenes from the history of Doriath. Celeborn relayed to her the few tales she didn’t yet know of in his usual calm, deep voice, lowly as they were not the only people in this cavern. A fountain stood at its center, and some Elves sat on stone benches around it, others lingered in front of doors to dwellings that adjoined to the square. An Elf with a silver band in his braid was singing to the harp-playing of a hazel-eyed maiden.
They did not really pay the two of them much attention, and Nerwen suspected that they were already used to Celeborn’s presence (he did seem to know his way around these parts exceptionally well). And it was unlikely that many of them actually recognized her. As far as she could tell, she had not exchanged a word with any of these Elves in the years she had spent here, and she was moreover wearing a cloak over her dress, covering her hair as she had become used to do when she was in a sour mood.
They were just turning away from a wall hanging depicting the Royal Couple with Luthien, as a babe in Melian’s arms, when she heard the word “Felagund” amidst the din of low voices around them. She halted, trying to discern where the voice was coming from. She could see Celeborn’s slightly confused look from the corner of her eyes, yet she did not really pay it any heed as she finally made out the source of that voice.
An Elf in the attire of a hunter and an auburn braid was leaning against one of the pillars, surrounded by a few other men.
“- still don’t believe that they came to aid us. They have proven that they don’t respect our king when they took land in the west for themselves, despite his bidding for them to stay in the north and east. And the gall of the one below the Rerir… First the trade with the Naugrim ceases altogether when those warmongers arrive, and now that they finally dare to come back to Beleriand, this red-faced brigand takes tolls and fees to make whatever the Naugrim might trade unaffordable for anyone but his fellow Noldorin princes.”
Nerwen felt Celeborn’s hand on her arm, and she was already about to turn away – she did not care for Caranthir at all, and even though the accusation of disrespect towards Thingol made her bristle slightly, it was not as if she had not heard it a dozen times before – when suddenly another one of the Elves started talking, broad-shouldered and with hair like freshly peeled chestnuts.
“I do not believe that the Noldor are able to respect anybody’s law but their own. And even among each other they seem quarrelsome, if you ask me. It will not be long before they start to tear each other apart – and right it would serve them for luring the Great Death into Middle Earth with their unwelcome presence.”
“Yes, right it would serve them indeed”, Nerwen remarked, just loud enough for them to hear. She felt Celeborn tensing up next to her, the hand on her arm squeezing slightly, as if he did not dare to actually pull her away, even though he definitely wanted to. But she wasn’t yet done, especially not now that the eyes of four surprised and slightly confused Sindar were on her.
“Right it would serve them for risking their own lives high up in the north to keep the ‘Great Death’ at bay and from falling upon Beleriand. Right it would serve them for keeping the peace of the lands they chose for their home, and of the lands all around them. Right it would serve them for sharing their knowledge and skill with those of your people who live outside of sheltered Doriath.”
On purpose she emphasized her usually hardly audible Noldorin accent. The two Elves who had not talked were looking from her to Celeborn, maybe not recognizing her, but obviously uncomfortable of such words being spoken in the presence of one of their princes. The Elf who had been leaning against the pillar straightened now, a slight blush on his cheeks attesting to his own uneasiness. The dark-haired one, though, raised his eyebrows as he squared his jaws, the confused look in his eyes turning resolute from one moment to the next.
“No one in Middle Earth asked your kin for their aid. And it is not a great deed to protect those who would not have become targets of the wrath of such a dreadful menace if their ‘protectors’ had not provoked and incurred this wrath in the first place.”
Nerwen snorted – one of those noises unbefitting a woman of her standing that would have found King Thingol’s disapproval had she uttered it in the King’s Hall. “Of course, how right you are, never would the Great Enemy’s eyes have found the vast tracts of land just south of his stronghold, and never did your swords clash with Orcish blades before!”
“Clash our swords did, indeed,” the dark-haired Elf snapped, taking a step towards Nerwen, who stood proud and unafraid in front of him, even a bit taller than he, she thought. “And we were well able to drive their foulness out of our woods and meadows, under the command of our King Thingol alone, not dependent on the help of belligerent strangers who claim land they’re not entitled to as reward for their bloody handiwork!”
Nerwen felt her firsts clench, her teeth grind against each other as heat rose to her head, filling her mind with the desire to jump, to snap, to maul. She hardly realized that Celeborn was whispering something to her, and she did not feel how his hand seized her wrist, gently but firmly.
The heat swept over her reason and brought her pride to the boil.
“Few lands King Thingol could claim to be entitled to hold if he had to face the full might of Morgoth Bauglir! Orcish armies are not the only forces my kin keeps at bay, and no darkness and no suffering you can imagine could measure up to the terror that would break from Angband was it not for the siege of those you call ‘unwelcome’ and ‘belligerent’!”
“Nerwen”, she could hear Celeborn murmur next to her, and she felt a tug on her wrist, but she stood her ground, watching the Sinda whose gaze had not wavered, but had filled with ire, mirroring the fire that surged through her body.
His voice was cold metal now. “Clearly the pride of your people shines from your brow, ‘my Lady’.” He spit the last word, and Nerwen noticed how Celeborn took a step forward, suddenly agitated more than worried, just as her own heart skipped a beat, too full of anger and exasperation as he continued: “The strength of our king and our people is not to be trifled with, and we do not need the blades of infighting princelings to defend our lands!”
“Your words might hold truth,” Nerwen said, her voice cold as ice while her whole body was filled with flames of indignation, “Or they would, at least, if Morgoth was to bend his knee to a people of minstrels and vagrants!”
She could see the jaw of the impertinent Sinda in front of her drop, his eyes widen in disbelief; but the satisfaction creeping up in her chest was stifled immediately when she felt Celeborn’s hold vanish from her wrist, so sudden as if he had singed his fingers on her skin. She heard appalled gasps around them, coming from Sindar she had not even noticed during the argument, and the three Elves behind her dark-haired opponent stared at her with hardly stifled outrage.
Suddenly the fire was smothered, and ice crept up her chest. A good dozen of dark eyes were looking at her, some in shock, some in anger, some in confusion. She could not feel Celeborn’s familiar warmth by her side, and when she turned to look at him, she saw his lips hanging slightly open, his eyebrows raised in unasked question, and his eyes full of a kind of hurt that made Nerwen’s stomach twist.
There was no way she could apologize, and she also couldn’t continue her arguing – not with all those eyes on her, not with this stifling atmosphere of apprehension all around. And so she shot the dark-haired Sinda she had quarreled with one last, cold glare, turned around with her skirts and cape swinging around her body, and marched off through the tunnel she and Celeborn had come from – faintly hoping that she would find the way back to her quarters without his guidance when she did not hear his footsteps following her.
~*~
Melian’s maid entered her room a few hours later.
“Queen Melian wishes to see you in her rooms as soon as possible, Lady Nerwen,” she said, bowing slightly, before she left her alone again.
Nerwen felt that she was not being summoned for a new lesson, and to know that she had waited so long to be called to Melian again just to have this call fill her with such dread made her even more miserable than she had been in the last hours. She did not regret talking back to the Sinda, or defending her kin; but the last thing she said… She did not even quite know where that had come from, and to say the truth, she was scared to find out. The Sindar had been good to her, even though their behavior was peculiar and frustrating sometimes, but she had not wanted to insult them in such a way. How wretched it was, thanking her hosts for their guest-friendship with such a crass insult…
Of course it was true that Thingol would stand no chance against Morgoth if it were not for the strength of her kin up north (and with a shudder she thought that not even Melian would be powerful enough to stop him if he were able to focus all of his power on Doriath). But the Sindar had fought against his evil creatures for a far longer time than the Noldor, and no matter how little they trusted her kin, they did not deserve her childish derision…
Well, she thought as she left the room, obviously Melian knew of the incident. If Ilúvatar had any mercy left for the rebellious children of Tirion, this news would not reach Thingol’s ears. His wife might be reasonable, if Nerwen explained what had happened, but there was a very real possibility that she would be sent back to her brother if Thingol was sufficiently offended by her obvious ungratefulness.
The thought made her sick, and she had to lean against the tunnel wall for a second. She thought of Celeborn again, and her heart ached. Then she thought of Melian, of the power that ran through her body when she was with her, when she exercised those powers she had not known before she had met the queen of Doriath, and the nausea welled up once again. One act of pride, one act of insolence could be enough to tear all the treasures she had found in Doriath from her, and she knew it well enough for her feet to grow heavier and heavier the closer she came to the queen’s quarters.
It was futile to knock on the door to Melian’s rooms, and so she just entered, like always, though she was hesitant to close the door behind her.
Melian was standing at her writing desk, sorting parchments into a neat pile. She did not pause when the door fell shut, did not even look up from her work. Nerwen could not make out her face behind the thick veil of her black hair, neither could she read her body language, as she stood as collected and upright like Galathilion itself, radiant like the moon in the dimness of the chamber.
“You have engaged in conduct that is less than unbecoming for a daughter of kings”, she finally said, her voice clear and calm, yet resounding from the high, domed ceiling of the room. The queen looked up now, brushing her dark hair behind her back with one arm, and laid the last of her parchments down.
“’Minstrels and vagrants’ you have called my husband’s people, the people of your host.” She looked Nerwen over with silent reproach in her eyes, though her expression was as tranquil and unperturbed as usual, and if Nerwen was not mistaken, her reproach was framed with concern. If ‘concern’ was the right word for the way she used to look at Nerwen during difficult lectures, always attentive, always seeing more than Nerwen could even imagine, always reaching out with her incomprehensible energy to steady Nerwen’s own powers.
Nerwen felt a blush rise to her face, and she lowered her gaze, tracing the veins of the stone with her eyes.
It seemed to be enough of an admission for Melian
She stepped away from the table, to the center of the room, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“You have started an argument with people you were not even acquainted with.“
Nerwen looked up now, heat still in her cheeks, but defiance creeping up into her chest. “They talked ill of my kin, my Queen! I could not-“
“You should have,” Melian interrupted her with a piercing sharpness in her voice that Nerwen had not yet known from her. “You are a lady of the kin of kings, sister and daughter to princes, a past and future leader of your kind. You are not a testy child in muddy skirts tussling and squabbling with your cousins anymore, and you have no right to behave as one.”
Nerwen felt the sudden urge of misguided rebellion shrink back inside of her, and she shuffled uneasily in her position, her eyes dropping to the floor again as her cheeks flushed with warmth once more.
She could feel the look of Melian’s omniscient eyes on her, scrutinizing, searching, before a low sigh made her look up again.
Melian carefully smoothed out the skirts of her red gown before she looked at Nerwen again, her eyes softer than before, gentle in the peculiar way the slopes of mountains were gentle in their unyielding eternalness.
“You are proud,” she said, slowly walking towards Nerwen until she could reach out and stroke the tips of her fingers over one of her flushed cheeks. “Proud, like it is the main fault in the firstborn children of Ilúvatar. You treasure your pride in your heart like a great virtue and flaunt it like a king does with the jewels in his crown. And you think an injury to this pride of yours is a severe enough offense against you to warrant the kind of behavior you showed towards my subjects today. None of their words could have had any real effect on what you hold dear, as it were empty words spoken by those of little authority, yet you felt the need to fight their words, because you felt your pride threatened – and weak a force it is, this peculiar pride of yours, if it can be threatened by mere words alone.” She pulled her fingers away, which had been resting on her skin while she spoke. “If what you hold so dear is so frail a thing that the opinion of people you are not even acquainted with seems like a menace to you, then it might be better if you did not prize it quite as highly as you do.”
Nerwen pressed her lips together, looking down at Melian’s long-fingered, white hands. “I apologize for my behavior, Your Majesty,” she said, though the words half caught in her throat, leaving her voice hoarse and brittle. “I will strive to restrain myself in the future and,” she took a deep breath, “Behave like a lady should.”
She looked up at Melian’s face after those words, anxious for approval, for absolution; yet the look on her face was not one of lenience, as she sighed again and shook her head slightly. She looked at Nerwen’s hands, which were clasped in front of her dark blue dress, before she looked up at her face again, which made Nerwen cast her own gaze down in shame. But Melian reached for her chin at that gesture, gently tilting her head up so that she had to look the queen of Doriath in the eye at her next words.
“I fear that an apology will not quite suffice…” She was peering right into her eyes now, ancient wisdom in the grey of hers, before she cupped her cheek gently. “There is only one cure to destructive pride like yours, Nerwen, that I know of.”
Melian’s eyes were piercing her like cold steel, though her serene expression did not falter or twist. Nerwen shivered under this gaze, and the skin of her hands was damp as she clasped them tighter.
“What cure?” she asked, desperately trying to keep herself from shivering with how close Melian was to her now, with her hand still on her cheek and her body hardly two inches from her hands. Something deep inside her dreaded the answer, and something entirely different stirred from the feeling of Melian’s breath on her skin, warm and gentle, and with surprise she saw how the look in her eyes softened, to something akin to pity.
It did not help to ward off the dread that was now filling her chest with icy tendrils.
“I do not like to do this, Nerwen,” Melian spoke, and her voice was warm and sympathetic. She pulled her hand back and turned around to slowly walk towards her writing desk again, pulling the sturdy wooden chair out and pushing it next to a lower side table, so that her right leg was in one line with the edge of the low table as she sat down.
“Come to me,” she ordered, looking up at Nerwen again.
Nerwen frowned, but slowly stepped towards her, utterly clueless on what she was planning to do.
Melian nodded slightly when she stood right next to her left leg. To Nerwen’s eternal confusion she opened her legs, letting the folds of the wide skirts of her dress fall between them. “You will stand between my legs, facing to my right, and lean forward until you can brace yourself on the side table.”
Nerwen could feel her face fall in a mixture of confusion and consternation. “But…,” she stumbled over her own tongue, “to what… why?”
Melian put one hand over her left knee, looking up to Nerwen with a mild, but imperious look in her eyes. “The only way to treat pride like yours effectively, Nerwen, is to humble it. See it as a lesson or a punishment, but you will leave this room wiser and placid like it is befitting for your standing.”
Nerwen tried to answer, but her lips just moved around unspoken words for a few moments, before she finally managed to say: “But this is a punishment for children!”
She could see Melian’s lips quirk slightly, amusement sparkling in her eyes as she lifted her brows in question. “Did you not behave like a child with your unreasonable quarreling? Is it not appropriate that I treat you as one then?”
She felt fire flare up in her face at those words. Pressing her lips together again, she dropped her head and nodded. “Of course, my Queen. Forgive me.”
Melian tilted her head graciously. “This is far more lenient a consequence than those you would have to face if our king had found out about your gaffe. Of course I will make sure that that will not happen. You are far too valuable a student for me to lose you over some youthful disrespect.” Nerwen felt her heart leap in her chest at that compliment, though it fell again as Melian spoke: “Now then, bend over my knee.”
She could not really think of a way to escape from this punishment, and so there was nothing she could do but step between Melian’s legs, her heart pounding in agitation as she awkwardly lowered herself slightly so that she could bend over Melian’s right thigh without losing her leverage completely; then she leaned forward, putting her forearms onto the side table and steadying herself on it. She felt nauseous, even more so with her head hanging down between her arms, her face hot with blood rushing into it both from the position and the utter mortification she was feeling.
Her whole body immediately stiffened when she felt how Melian pulled her skirts up, exposing her naked rear before she clamped her thighs tightly around Nerwen’s legs. Her heartbeat sped up once more, and she could not hold back the miserable whimper that the cool air around her backside wrung from her throat.
She could hardly keep herself from struggling when she felt Melian’s warm, soothing hand on her naked skin. Her shoulders tensed up so badly that they started to hurt in the course of moments.
“Shh…,” Melian whispered, running her hand under her pushed-up skirts and over her lower back. Nerwen could feel her energy, rising around her like a tidal wave, washing over her. “Just stay calm and breathe,” her mentor instructed her, her voice suddenly filling the whole cave room, and Nerwen obeyed, feeling the tension drain from her body, until she was hanging nearly limply over the Maia’s thigh.
Her fingers scrambled at the edge of the table when the hand vanished from her skin, and she closed her eyes and tensed up again, only slightly so this time, struggling to steady her breath.
The first slap made her jerk forwards more from shock than from pain; to say the truth, she had hardly felt it over the way her legs cramped in surprise. Melian stroked her skin again, humming soothingly – then her hand was gone, and came back a moment later, meeting her flesh with more force now. Nerwen struggled to keep another whine from escaping her, keeping her eyes shut as she tried to feel her whole body like Melian had showed her in one of her first lessons, tried to find her balance to steady her breathing and steel herself against the pain that was sure to come.
It did not quite work, and as the next blow came, again harder than the one before, she whimpered through shut lips, jerking forward slightly. She could feel Melian’s other hand on her shoulder, steadying her a bit, before she hit her again, the other buttock this time, and again harder. Her lips fell open, though she kept her noises to herself, just gasping low in her throat. Quickly she shut her mouth again, knowing perfectly well that the slaps would not get lighter for a while and that she would not be able to hold the sounds of her pain back if she didn’t press her lips shut.
It was hard to swallow the cry that tried to escape her at the next slap. Melian was hitting her in earnest now, it seemed, because her hand left her skin tingling, and she could feel how her rear was warming up – a thought that filled her with even more shame than the previous slaps, and she hung her head again, whimpering lowly in her throat before she finally let out a high-pitched gasp at the next, again harder slap.
The respites Melian gave her got shorter and shorter with every slap that followed, and soon her hand was raining down on her, and finally she was not able to hold herself back anymore. Each hit made her cry out in pain, and by the time the queen had finally found a level of intensity of her hits that seemed to suit her, Nerwen was sobbing and wailing with pain at each slap on hot, sore skin. Her fingers were frantically clawing on the wood of the side table, scratching over it whenever she let out another high-pitched cry, whenever Melian’s unrelenting hand found a spot that she had already hit too often for new impact to be tolerable anymore. Her vision was blurred by now, if of pain or tears she could not tell, and she kept her eyes shut as much as possible, even though she seemed to feel the pain even more acutely in this way.
Melian did not stop; for a moment somewhere between two especially hard hits Nerwen had hoped that her arm would grow tired, but then she had remembered on whose lap she was lying, and that hope had vanished with the cry that the next slap had wrought from her. Soon she was not able to cry anymore, and her body grew too heavy for her to control in any way, too worn out by pain to even wince at the blows anymore. Shivering she was now, though, and weeping into her arms, wetting the dark blue fabric with her tears until it looked black as the night.
When the blows finally started to slow down, her whole body was trembling and her throat was sore and burning from her sobs. By the time Melian completely ceased her punishment and just ran her hand over the abused skin, her backside was nearly completely numb, and dull pain was radiating from it through her whole lower body, lazily throbbing with the burning sensation even the gentle petting of Melian caused her now.
When Melian finally let go of her shoulder and gently helped her to straighten herself again, her whole body felt like an exposed nerve, burning and tender, wincing with every touch. She was still shivering as she stepped out from between Melian’s legs and carefully pulled her skirts down. Tears were clinging coolly to her cheeks, and still new ones were welling up in her eyes. In an irrational bout of stubborn defiance against the weakness of her own body she tried to roughly rub her face dry with her sleeve, but little good it did her, as her sleeves were already both drenched from before. She let out an unvoiced curse as she kept rubbing at her face, until she suddenly felt arms around her, warm and comforting, though they still made her tense up again.
That was, until she felt the soft, warm fabric of a handkerchief on her face, and she lowered her hands to let Melian dry her tears and kiss her reddened cheeks. She was struggling to hold a new bout of sobs back, yet it was a futile endeavor – as soon as Melian put her hands on her back and she found her face against the Maia’s shoulder, against the soft, fragrant velvet of her red dress, she started to sob in full force again, her whole body shaking in the strong arms that had just brought her such pain and were now giving her such comfort. The warmth of Melian alone seemed to slowly make her tears run dry, and soon her sobbing had ceased and turned into low panting as Nerwen’s hands clung to the queen’s dress, hanging on for dear life.
When her breath was finally calming again, Melian began to stroke her hair, carefully combing her fingers through her tresses and opening her mussed up braids. She kissed her cheek again before she stepped away from her for a moment, fetching a soft brush. She moved behind her, and for the next few minutes she brushed her hair out until all the tangles were straightened. Nerwen’s legs hurt while she stood patiently and waited, but she knew that sitting down was not an option. The skin of her backside was still burning, and even the flimsy touch of her skirts was vexing, to say the least.
When Melian was done with brushing her hair, she carefully remade her braids. Finally she ran her hands over her shoulders and arms, gentle, careful, hardly touching her with more than her fingertips.
“Wait a moment,” she whispered, kissing her shoulder softly, before she vanished again.
Nerwen closed her eyes while she waited for the Maia to come back. Her heart was still beating faster than usually, yet it was slowly calming down. The speed of her breathing was nearly normal again, and the shivering had stopped as well. Her eyes and cheeks were still burning from the tears, and she was feeling slightly sick, deeply mortified and ashamed, her head full of too many thoughts she did not want to sort out right now, and so she just concentrated on her breathing, slowly, steadily, until her whole body seemed to slowly relax.
Melian came back with a cup in her hand. Its content smelled strongly of sweet herbs when she slipped it into Nerwen’s hands.
“Drink this”, Melian said in a low voice, stroking a last stray strand of hair behind the Elf’s ear. “It will ease the pain and calm your mind.”
Obediently Nerwen raised the cup to her lips, sipping the cool, slightly bitter liquid slowly, until no drop was left. It was indeed calming, though her head started to spin slightly when she finally lowered the cup again.
“Do you still have marigold salve in your rooms?” Melian asked as she gently plucked the cup from her fingers. Nerwen nodded, and Melian smiled at her before she gave her a last kiss on the cheek and then hugged her again.
“Put the salve on as soon as you are back in your rooms. I will send you a lotion that you will apply before you go to sleep tonight, and tomorrow the pain will be as good as gone.” She let go of her, looking into her face with attentive, gentle eyes, before she stroked her cheek again. “Go now, my dear, wonderful student. There is somebody waiting for you outside.”
Nerwen nodded again, doing her best to collect herself before she bowed slightly to Melian and made her way to the door, wincing as the fabric of her dress rubbed over her rear. It was hard to close her hand around the door handle and even harder to pull it open, but somehow she managed it despite the excruciating weakness of her limps.
Celeborn was leaning against a wall close to the entrance of the queen’s quarters, and Newern’s face flushed again as she thought of all her sobbing and wailing – how long had he already been standing there? Had he heard what had happened inside?
Though the surprised shock on his face when he looked at her red-rimmed eyes and still tear-swollen face told her that he was not aware of what had happened.
“Are you,” he started, taking a fast step towards her before he remembered to control himself, “Are you alright, Nerwen?”
The concern knitting his brow and sounding from his voice made a different sort of warmth stir in Nerwen than the pain in her body or the burn on her skin.
“I’m fine,” She said, though her voice cracked, and Celeborn did not look as if he believed her at all. She tried to smile, failing miserably again, before she just shook her head slightly. “I need a bit of rest, I think. Everything will be fine then.”
Celeborn nodded, then he opened his mouth to say something – yet he apparently changed his mind and just closed his mouth again, looking at the hem of her skirts instead. He needed a moment to collect himself, it seemed, but when he finally looked up he looked her straight in the eye.
“Please allow me to accompany you back to your rooms. I will leave you alone there, I promise, I just… I want to make sure that you get there safe…” With unintentional amusement Nerwen saw how his cheeks darkened, and she tilted her head slightly in response to his question.
“I would be really glad if you accompanied me back, Celeborn.”
A little smile spread on his face at that, insecure still, but relieved, and he bowed slightly before he turned around to lead the way.
She quickly caught up with him, though walking still hurt the tender skin of her backside –she tried to ignore it as best as she could.
“Celeborn”, she said lowly, and Celeborn turned around to her again, halting. “I…” Now it was she who blushed and looked at his boots, not quite sure how she should phrase it – not quite ready to bring it up again. Yet she had to, she would not be able to bear leaving it unsaid.
“I…” She swallowed, not able to lift her gaze farther than to the hem of his sleeves, “I am really sorry about the thing I said earlier… About… About ‘minstrels and vagrants’…” She felt tears burn in the corners of her eyes, but she fought them down this time. “I… I really did not mean that. I was just so angry… But I should not have said that, no matter how angry I was, and I want to apologize… I don’t really think like that, Celeborn, and I hope you can forgive me.”
Her breath hitched for a second as she reached out to gently slip her hand into Celeborn’s. She still did not dare to look at his face, until his hand carefully squeezed her fingers.
He was smiling when she looked up, the serene, gentle smile that she so loved, and he lifted her hand, leaning over it without breaking their eye contact. “You do not have to ask me if I forgive you, Nerwen. I will always forgive you, no matter what”, he whispered, and his lips brushed gently over her knuckles, making her head spin even worse than the drink Melian had given her.
Celeborn seemed to notice what his touch did to her, and he lowered his hand again, yet he did not let go of hers. “Let’s get you to your room now.” His voice was still low, but more than a mere whisper now, and Nerwen smiled at him again, and this time she succeeded.