Chapter 3

The next two days they spent lying together, sharing stories and memories, exchanging soft touches and tender kisses. At dawn of the third day after he had declared his love, she bathed him again with snow-soaked rags. He would have protested the cold, but for the fire which burned in him when she touched his skin. Gently she removed his old bandages, replacing them with new strips from her dress and from his robes. Then she reluctantly (though she did not tell him how she felt) helped him to dress again.

When searchers found them the evening of the third day, they were reclined on opposite sides of the fire, fully clothed and idly chatting.

At first light, they began the journey back to Ingwë’s palace, a journey made slower by the rugged terrain and the discovery that Huoro’s supposedly sprained ankle was actually broken. Throughout their travels, Indis kept herself a safe and proper distance from Huoro, seldom speaking to him though they each stole glances at the other often.

The reunion with Ingwe and Arafinwë at the palace was an emotional one – at least on the parts of Ingwe and Arafinwë it was. Patiently Indis endured the embraces and insistence on stories detailing her trials, but all the while her thoughts were on Huoro.  At long last, she convinced her kin to allow her some rest.

Accompanied by Arafinwë, who refused to allow her to walk to her rooms alone, she entered Huoro’s sitting room. The two anxious healers told her he slept fitfully from the pain draught they had given him an hour before. Quietly, she went to his bedside. Taking his right hand in hers, she held it as she sang songs of Cuiviénen which had calmed him before. In his sleep, he breathily whispered “my lirulin” before he finally settled into a deep peaceful sleep.

“Amillë,” Arafinwë whispered over her shoulder in wonder. “It has been a long time since I last heard you sing those songs. I had forgotten them. How did you know they would calm him?”

Fearing she would betray her feelings in front of her son, she carefully answered. “I knew the Lord Huoro in Cuiviénen and on the march to Aman. We reminisced to pass the time in the cave. I owe him my life, my son. What comfort I can provide to him, I will.” Reaching over, she patted her son’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I am weary and need to rest now.”

Rising, they made their way out of his rooms. As they rounded the corner to the corridor leading to her suite, they heard rapid footsteps and the swish of dresses behind them.

“Is my son here? We were told he lies within. Take me to him now!” a deep-voiced nér demanded accompanied by feminine sobs and the soft voice of a nís wailing, “My Huoro!” 

When they reached her own rooms, Arafinwë stopped her in her sitting room. “Amillë, we owe Lord Huoro much for all that he has done in protecting you and caring for you. I will speak with Ingwë on how we may honor him for protecting our dear treasure.”

She smiled tiredly, embracing her son. “I do not believe that Lord Huoro will accept anything from either of you. He believes he does nothing more than his duty to his king and friends in looking after me.”

“I know,” Arafinwë replied. “For all that he does and has done for you over the ages, we owe him much.”

“Oh Amillë! I am so relieved that you are safe. I rode out here as fast as I could after you were past due arriving in Tirion. I do not know what I would do if I were to lose you, too. I do not think I could bear it.”

Pulling back, she put her hands on her son’s face, then stood on her toes while pulling him down so she could kiss his forehead. “I love you very much, my little one. But please do not worry for me. I am stronger than you realize and my protector is much greater than I knew. You have no reason to fear for me.”

“Even still,” he smiled, “I am staying here tonight. If you need anything at all Amillë, I will be sitting out here. Eärwen arrives tomorrow bringing Nerdanel and Anairë with her. Findis is quite pleased that we will be celebrating MidWinter here instead of in Tirion.”

Indis nodded, her mind already working on how she might be able to arrange a visit with Huoro alone in spite of the arrivals of his family and hers. “Good night, my son.”

“Good night, Amillë.” And he settled down in a chair, humming the last song she had sung to Huoro.

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None of her plans for visiting with Huoro alone worked. Whenever she entered his rooms, she found them occupied by one of his sisters with a spouse in tow or his parents or all of them. Huoro pleaded weariness to try to convince his kin to leave him alone, but they always made certain that Indis and the healers left him alone as well. She could not even blow him a kiss for fear of someone noticing, so they made do with the exchange of longing glances.

Two days before Midwinter, Indis suggested to Arafinwë that Huoro be invited to celebrate MidWinter with their family in gratitude for the help he gave to her. Ingwë whole-heartedly agreed and quietly suggested to Huoro’s family that they return to their home to celebrate with their kin, promising to take care of their son for them in that time. They were not happy about it, but they complied with the high king’s request.

On the eve of the feast Indis dressed in finer raiment that she had in years. This would be her first celebration with “him” present – at least the first one where she acknowledged his presence and delighted in it. According to him, he had been present at many of the last two thousand of them, but to her lasting shame, she had not noticed.

As she sat brushing her hair, she heard a knock at her door. “Enter!” she called, thinking it to be her maid.

When she turned and saw that it was Huoro, she leaped to her feet and ran to him. Dropping the bundle he carried as well as his crutch, he wrapped her in his right arm, kissing her deeply and holding her close.

“I am surprised that you have come to my chambers,” she said as she drew back to look at him. Reaching up she brushed his unbound hair behind his ears. “You have not braided your hair and you are not dressed for the festivities. Why?” Suddenly fear overtook her. What if he did not plan to attend? What if he wearied already of the great lengths they would have to go to in order to be together?

Lowering his bright eyes, his face flushed red. “My lady, I…I need assistance putting on my clothes and fixing my hair. I cannot work out how to do it one-handed.”

Leveling a scolding look upon him, she shook her head, smiling in relieved amusement. “You could have asked a servant to assist you.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I know. But it is more fun this way. If someone is going to touch me, I would rather it be you.”

With a gentle laugh, she retrieved his things and helped him into the next room, sitting him before her mirror. Amidst much talking and laughing, she managed to dress him in shirt, tunic, and robes around his broken arm and bandaged ribs. When she was finished, she carefully replaced his arm in the fine linen sling, then set to work on his hair. After much debate, mostly on her part, she braided it the way he had originally requested.

“We still have a few minutes before we must depart,” he breathed huskily as he rose to his feet. “Thank you for assisting me.”

“And how does my lord wish to pay me for my services?” she asked, eyeing him coyly as she sauntered up to him.

“Like this,” he whispered as his lips captured hers in the most seductive kiss he had yet managed.

“The way you are shining right now, my beloved, you put me in mind of Laurelin,” he said when at last they broke apart. “You should do so more often, my lady. Joy becomes you beautifully.”

She blushed, bowing her head, completely speechless. He lifted her chin with his finger, but she still could not meet his steady dazzling gaze. Sparing her the necessity of a response, he pressed her head against his chest where his triumphant chuckle softly rumbled.

“Oh my lady, I cannot begin to describe to you how wonderful it feels to finally be able to hold you in my arms and tell you how much I love you. I have waited so long, so very very long for this…”

Wrapping her arms around him, carefully avoiding his broken ribs, she sighed. “Are we doomed to always meet behind closed doors and in total solitude in the wilderness?”

“For me,” he sighed contentedly, “it is enough. I spent thousands of years making do with being your escort and protector, never even hoping to win your attention let alone your affection. Now I have held you and tasted your lips. This is so much more than I had ever hoped for, though I longed for it.”

“What will we do when it is no longer enough?” she asked, her voice muffled by his robes.

“That I do not know. But one question you must ask yourself is what you would do if Finwë were to return from Mandos.” She pulled back, looking up at him in surprised alarm. He caressed her cheek, his hand coming to rest at her chin. “Yes, Indis, we must speak of such things and better to do so now than to wait and possibly break both of our hearts.

“I know you love him and in this, I am your second love as you are his second love. You have already expressed your bitterness at being an abandoned second lover.” He spoke matter-of-factly, no hurt or bitterness ever entering his voice. “But what if he returned and you and I were together? Would you hate me for keeping you from him? Would you despise him if he chose Míriel over you? And what of your children and your kin? Would they rejoice to see you happy once again or will they feel that you have betrayed Finwë? What will the Noldor and the Vanyar think of you, of us? If we were to wed one day, what would become of our children given your past?”

She bowed her head, tears escaping her eyes. He wiped the tears away with his thumb. “Indis, my love, we must consider these things. I am not saying this to pressure you into a decision about anything. You have not even declared your love for me --if indeed what you feel for me goes beyond infatuation.”

She put her fingers on his lips, clearly affronted. “Huoro, you know I feel more than infatuation for you!”

Kissing her fingers, he grasped them in his hand, moving them from his face. “I know what I want to believe to be true, but until you say it, I will not accept it. But Indis, please understand…” He drew her palm to his lips and kissed it. “We have all of the time we need to consider these things and make our choices. I have loved you since our families dwelt side by side at Cuiviénen. I have waited for thousands of years for you to even acknowledge me. I can wait -- I will wait -- thousands more if that is what it takes for you to tell me that you love me and wish to spend whatever may be left of the life of Arda with me.”

She looked into his eyes shining with love for her, then bowed her head. More tears escaped, only to be trapped by his lips as he kissed each one that trailed down her face. Soon his mouth was on hers again, but this time it was she whose lips brazenly demanded with a fierceness that surprised even her.

At last he drew back, clutching his side where his ribs suddenly pained him. Worriedly, she helped him to sit down, her hands on his hand where it covered his ribs. “By the Valar, Indis. What have I awakened in you?” He desperately panted, curling around his pain

She smiled at him triumphantly.

“I must needs heal quickly or your passion will be the death of me.”

She rewarded him with an apologetic kiss.

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Stunned into complete and utter silence, Ingwë and Arafinwë backed out of the sitting room and into the hallway, quietly closing the door. Neither spoke as they walked briskly to the dining room where their families awaited them.

Upon entering the room, their wives met them with kisses of greeting and a glass of wine for each of them.

“Did you find Lord Huoro?” Eärwen asked.

Ingwë and Arafinwë eyed each other warily, then Ingwë cautiously replied, “He was not in his rooms. I am certain he will be along presently.”

“What of Indis?” she asked.

Arafinwë took a deep uncertain breath. “She was still getting ready and should arrive soon.”

“Excellent!” Anairë said. “I am hungry. I hope they arrive soon.

“Ingwë, it was very kind of you to invite Lord Huoro to join us. He has been among us as Indis’ escort for so long, he may as well be counted among the family.”

Ingwë and Arafinwë carefully remained silent, each desperately trying to gauge the thoughts of the other.

“Arafinwë,” Findis said. “Have you noticed how joyful amillë has been since she returned? It is so good to see her smile again and…Did you know, I heard her laugh a few days ago? It was like she used to laugh when atar was alive and we yet dwelt as a family in Tirion. I nearly wept for joy at the sound of it.”

“I agree with Findis,” Nerdanel nodded, taking a sip from her glass. “Perhaps it took a brush with death to finally bring your amillë back to life again.”

“I heard her sing songs of Cuiviénen and the Trees,” Eärwen agreed, grasping Arafinwë’s arm and nuzzling his shoulder with her cheek. “It eases my heart to see joy in her eyes again. I have been worried about her for so very long.”

Releasing breath he did not realize he held, Arafinwë sighed deeply, nodding his understanding and acceptance. “I have to agree with you. Amillë is finally starting to heal. I have seen happiness in her as well which I, too, have long missed.”

Ingwë closed his eyes for a moment before sighing and nodding his assent as well. “I believe we owe our gratitude to Lord Huoro for returning to us the one we have loved and missed for so long.” He reached out and squeezed Arafinwë’s shoulder in affirmation. “For indeed, it is because of him that we have in our lives once again the sister and amillë we so dearly loved and feared lost to us forever. He will always be welcome in my house.”

“And Lord Huoro will always be welcome in mine,” Arafinwë echoed, raising his glass in toast to seal his words. “We owe him much indeed.”

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Terms:

Nis/níssi – female elf (female elves)

Nér/neri/ male elf (male elves)

Amillë – mother

Atar – father

Hroa – body

Fëa – spirit

Laurelin – the golden tree of the Two Trees which used to light Valinor