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sambhavami · 10 months

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The Lost Flute - Part 1 (An Open Door)

Balarama's chariot kicked up the dust on the rustic road as it rustled past the sun-soaked fields and bristling bushes of Mathura's countryside. The sun was already about to kiss the horizon. His arms were wrapped around the half-asleep young girl beside him. She had covered her mouth with the end of her dress, her head resting on Balarama's shoulders. This journey had been long overdue, but it was finally drawing to a close.

"Can I ask you a question, Rama?" The girl asked quietly.

"You know you don't need my permission, Subhadre." Balarama smiled down at her.

Subhadra laughed quietly, "Rama, I've always heard how great of a flautist Kanha is, but I've never seen him play. He always makes excuses when I ask. Did he not enjoy playing the flute?"

Balarama shifted slightly in his seat, "Who told you that? He and that flute used to be inseparable. We wouldn't be able to pry it from his sleeping hands!" He chuckled at the memory.

"So why doesn't he play now?" Subhadra asked.

"I don't know Bhadre, maybe he's just too busy to be indulging in a hobby right now."

"Is that why he didn't come with us today?"

"Probably." Balarama sighed.

Suddenly, he sat up in his seat, "Look, there's our Vrindavan! Do you see those stone houses across the horizon? That's the village! And to the west, those are the pastures. From sunrise to sunset, that is where we lived! Nand-baba used to teach us every day- in the morning follow the sun but when he sets, you turn and run! I must tell you the stories about the times we got lost in the forests and nearly forgot that little poem!"

Balarama stood up from the cushioned seat of the chariot and started waving frantically at a man across the field, "Hey Madhu, MADHU!" He jumped down from the slowing chariot and ran towards him. Soon, a crowd gathered around them. A few boys ran back to the village to announce their arrival. The farmers and the gopas stood with folded hands as Balarama went around inquiring about their lives.

As some villagers approached them carrying on torched, Balarama turned to Subhadra with a broad smile, "Come on then! We can walk the rest of the way!"

Balarama stopped and turned as the torchbearers fell a few steps behind. Subhadra was approaching him with her bejewelled skirt held high as she trod carefully on the muddy, uneven road as five villagers attempted to light the way as best they could. He laughed, "I probably should have told you to wear a lighter dress!"

"Well," Subhadra raised an eyebrow, "You did say I was going to meet two of the most important people of your life. You can't fault me for trying to impress!" Though her tone was soaked in sarcasm, she smiled warmly.

Balarama smiled back as he took a torch from one of the villagers, "Come on, walk with me!" He said as he put an arm around her.

---

Standing at the gates of the stone villa, Balarama looked around. There was no one standing to welcome them. There were no extra lights lit or flower garlands hung. "That's strange," he said, almost to himself, "Are they not home? But the others would've told us if they weren't!"

He walked up the stairs leading up to the heavy, wooden gate. The door was unlocked. As usual, he thought. He walked into the sprawling courtyard, Subhadra trailing along awkwardly. In the inner sanctum under the archway, stood a dark figure. Balrama smiled as he saw the man.

"Grand gestures are for strangers, my son can walk right in."

Balarama dashed to embrace the man, both of them tearing up slightly. Balarama turned and beckoned his sister, "Subhadra, meet him. He is our Nand-baba, and Baba, this is my Bhadra, our little sister!"

Subhadra smiled politely and went to touch his feet, utterly unaware of the fact that Nand had gone white as a sheet. Balarama, noticing immediately, quickly ushered his sister to the guestroom.

Balarama walked out to the courtyard to find Nand pouring some soma juice into two large chalices. He sat down beside the old man, "I probably should have told you I was bringing her."

"Yes, you should have." Nand turned away.

"Come on, Baba, you can't lie to me." Balarama took a sip from one of the cups, "It was a tough call you made. There was always going to be only one: either Kanha or her. I have lain awake several nights pondering what I would have done in your position. Before it was so simple- save the saviour, but ever since our Shashi came to us, I cannot make a decision! I love Kanha, but I do not think I would have been able to give up my Shashi, even if it was his life on the line!"

Nand sighed, "I do not care how brave people say I was. Do not tell me how Kamsa was the one who killed her. I sent her to him! I made that decision, to end one life for another. There is blood on my hands that will never be washed away."

"Subhadra is innocent in this. How is it fair to punish her?"

"I am not punishing her. Haven't you heard the rumours? They say she is her, reborn! How can I look in those eyes after what I've done?"

Balarama refilled Nand's chalice, "I get it, Baba, but the rumours are baseless. She is her own person. She doesn't deserve to be seen as someone she is not. Also, is it fair to replace her? She who gave herself to give us victory, in more ways than one! She gave us Kanha! Is it so easy to replace her sacrifice with another child? Subhadra deserves a chance to have you in her life in the same way as we have! Besides, where's Yashoda-maa, does she not want to see us?"

---

Yashoda had concealed herself in her chambers when the boys had brought news of their arrival.

Krishna had not come with them.

An overwhelming emptiness had suddenly engulfed her. She had watched Balarama walk in from the window in her bed-chamber. He had come up to talk to her after dinner but she had locked the door. After knocking for a few minutes, he had left thinking she was asleep. The truth was that she had stayed awake all night, pacing up and down the room. Up until then, everything had seemed surreal.

There had been a faint hope that Krishna would return, and then everything would go back to normal. Seeing Balarama walk in with their new sister, without Krishna, had suddenly made everything so very real. It felt to Yashoda like the invisible wall between her and Krishna was finally cemented.

---

As the sun rose, Yashoda straightened her mostly undisturbed bed and went out to face her bland, ordinary day. Outside, she found the young princess standing in the centre of the corridor. Her hair was tied back neatly in a tight braid, and she wore bright yellow apparel. In the darkness of the night, Yashoda had not realized how much her face resembled Balarama. However, her mannerisms reminded Yashoda of Kanha. She stood upright in a regal fashion, but her eyes were lowered in deference.

"May I know who you are?" Yashoda asked, although in her mind she already had guessed.

The girl looked up, "I am Princess Subhadra, daughter of the great Prince Vasudeva and the pious Princess Rohini of Mathura, granddaughter of the illustrious King Ugrasena of the renowned family of Yadavas, ruler of the kingdoms of Mathura and Dwarika, niece of the distinguished Lord Nanda, ruler of Gokula and Vrindavana, and sister to the unparalleled warriors- Prince Balarama, viceroy of Mathura and Prince Krishna, viceroy of Dwarika."

Subhadra's words seemed like a twisting knife lodged in Yashoda's heart. The one this girl spoke of, is Devaki's Krishna, not Yashoda's! Still, the girl is innocent, she thought and forced herself to smile once more. Clearly, the girl had been taught to parrot off her titles from a young age.

She smiled at the girl, "Well, I am Lady Yashoda, Consort to the Lord of the realms of Gokula and Vrindavana, Mistress of the household you currently grace, and maiya to anyone who's interested."

Subhadra's eyes lit up immediately. Dropping the regal demeanour, she sighed with relief, "I hate having to do that, maiya! Rama makes me practice that all the time! He says how we conduct ourselves should always reflect the standing of our illustrious family!"

Yasoda laughed, "Yes, he does find happiness in perfection. I see no reason why he shouldn't inculcate the same values in his sister!"

#krishna #hindu mythology #balarama #fanfic #original writing #india #subhadra #vrindavan #mahabharata #the lost flute

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kelefox · 7 months

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NaNoWriMo Project Intro: A Phantom of the Opera retelling

fantasy • romance • gender swapped • LGBTQIA+ • secret history • maybe dark • probable whimsy • all the angst

This will be fun! I've wanted to do a Phantom retelling for a while because, well, Phantom – music and theatre and tragic love stories. I thought at first it would be a Christine/Erik ship, but now that I've done some prep... well, we'll see.

POV

third person • past tense • multiple POV

Goal

Write 50k for NaNoWriMo 2023! Will that be the whole novel? Nooooo

Summary

In a theatre in Adavast, a makeup artist is found dead by their own hand in the orchestra pit.

Suicide isn't so rare. In Adavast, it's not even uncommon. But the artist didn't die by any of the usual means. They painted themselves to death, pouring so much of their soul into the mask they made that there was nothing left. The mask is beautiful to behold, says the flautist who found the body, such that they can barely stand to look upon it. But when the theatre managers go to view the scene, the mask is gone.

All eyes turn to the flautist, but Viviane, the stage manager, and Corentin, rising star of the company, have suspicions of something far more sinister.

Characters

Corentin (Christine)

Young countertenor and the newest jewel in the Adavast Opera company. Caught in an affair he knows has no happy ending

Arielle (Raoul)

Slightly odd Society darling who has never forgotten the boy she nearly kissed backstage at sixteen and how beautifully he sang

Viviane (the Persian deserves more POV)

Brilliant stage manager with a grim history. Never leaves the theatre. Worries for Corentin

Estelle (Erik/Phantom)

Secret past. Secret present. Does not believe she has a future but could save the world with a song

World

Adavast is a star system in a civilisation where humans have become physically indestructible and live for hundreds of years. Around other stars, people are peaceful and prosperous, but in Adavast, they struggle. Temporal variance, the scholars call it, but no one can explain the phenomenon. Magic thrives in one city but never develops in the next. Electrical technology lights up a building while across the street, gas lamps are the only things to work. Society is plagued with despair. No one knows why.

Links

Playlist

Join me at NaNo!

Follow me on Ream for updates (free to follow, subscribe for more)

#authors of tumblr #fantasy #writeblr #fiction #nanowrimo #kelefox

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opera-ghosts · 1 year

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Richard Schubert as “Tannhäuser” R. Wagner.

Richard Schubert, the celebrated tenor and interpreter of Richard Wagner's romantic heroes, embodied a new ideal of the Heldentenor. Schubert in turn, bad a clearly focused, shining voice that enabled him to penetrate the mighty forces of a Wagner Orchestra. Especially lauded, however, was bis youthfully ideal stage appearance with which he managed to do full justice to the magic of his roles. Thus it is no surprise that it was Richard Strauss who actually discovered him. In one of the Nuremberg "Rosenkavalier" productions conducted by him the musician accompanying the tenor in the aria of the "singer" attracted his attention because of his extraordinary histrionic ability. Strauss was later told that said flautist was a student who was studying singing in order later to become a baritone. He decided to keep an eye on him. Nevertheles he could hardly have known that this young man was subsequently to become one of the most celebrated Heldentenors of the Vienna State Opera. Initially Schubert sang minor baritone roles in Strassburg; bis well-developed top range soon showed which way bis career was to turn. Eventually he managed the transition to the tenor repertoire and he subsequently sang in Nuremberg, Wiesbaden and Hamburg, learning the most important Heldentenor roles as well as many lyric roles. Even when he was celebrated as a Heldentenor he. still continued to sing lyric roles where he could relax and "oil" his voice. While in Hamburg he owed a lot to Egon Pollack, then the intendant of the opera. There, on December 4, 1920, he also sang the tenor lead in the world premiere of Komgold's "Die tote Stadt", a role in which he was subsequently acclaimed in Vienna. In April 1920 Schubert was engaged to sing five performances in Vienna. His Radames initially did not quite fulfill expectations as the Viennese were accustomed to the huge voice of Leo Slezak. Yet he managed to convince as Walter, Tannhäuser and Pedro in "Tiefland". A further guest appearance in the tetralogy of the Ring finally convinced all and sundry that here was a grandiose successor to Erik Schmedes, whose style, however, recalled rather the latter's predecessor Hermann Winkelmann. Unfortunately, Schubert could only be signed up for brief periods of time in each case which were used for cyclical performances of Wagner operas. Hence his excursions into the lyric repertoire were few and far between. Also in Richard Strauss' operas he was acclaimed.

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burlveneer-music · 2 months

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youtube

Buddy Rich & Alla Rakha - Rich à la Rakha - Sundazed has just reissued this 1968 album on vinyl & CD

Jazz snare & ride cymbal meet classical Indian tabla & pakhawaj! What happens when one of the best jazz drummers of all time combines efforts with one of India’s most renowned tabla players? Voilà! Rich À La Rakha. Calypso-flavored compositions, spontaneous jams, and a genuine instrumental dialogue between the two greats truly makes this a one-of-a-kind listen. Cut all analog and pressed on colored vinyl! In 1968, as young America’s interest in Indian classical music was surging to its peak, Alla Rakha made a landmark record with the big band jazz drummer Buddy Rich. Rich, like Alla Rakha, is an icon, often ranked very near the top of any list of ‘greatest drummers’ regardless of genre. Rich was an exuberant, hot tempered man who frequently alienated friends and peers but, at the same time, “was one of the most technically gifted drummers to ever walk our planet. He had incredible speed and control, power and touch.” Ravi Shankar composed several compositions for both men to play together and brought in smooth jazz flautist Paul Horn (who studied meditation in Rishikesh at the same time as The Beatles in 1968) as well as sitarist Shamim Ahmed to create a musical space within which the two geniuses could experiment. The album Rich à la Rakha, which we share today, is a milestone in the ‘jazz meets Indian classical music’ story. – Nate Rabe (Harmonium: Musical Culture from South Asia and the Diaspora) Includes: Khanda Kafi (Ravi Shankar) • Duet In Dadra • Rangeela (Ravi Shankar) • Nagma E Raksh (Alla Rakha) • Tal Sawari

#buddy rich #jazz #raga #india #1968 #60s #world music #alla rakha #sitar #Youtube

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marieabubb08 · 1 year

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Imagine Princess!Reader who fell inlove with the claps and stomping sounds of the village's dances down in the middle of the townsquare and so every year, when the Celebration of Succesful Harvests arrive, she will escape her home palace in a disguise just to dance along with the loud beats of the drums, the romantic pull of the stringed instruments and her favourite of them all: the solo of the woodwind flute that just compliments the whole band.

That certain year tho, the solo flautist's music was different. Yes, it was still the same piece of music she heard every year, but it was definitely a whole new rendition to that of the one she always heard. It was light and heavenly like the weightless tapping sounds of the footsteps of the dancers. The vibratos and melody was cheery and full of life like the laughs and claps from the bystanders and watchers.

The young royal was enamoured with the music of whomever played the wind instrument. And so she searched for the musician through the thick and confusing crowd of people.

As she finally found her way, her mouth gawked open in awe.

There in the middle of the many musicians of different instruments, stood a young man probably the same age as she was. His dark green hair tousled along with the way his head bopped with the music, a shy smile adorned his freckled, sunkissed face as his fingers fiddled with the wooden flute as if playing it was an ease.

The princess watched in her own little world with her attention only focused at the young flautist who was enjoying himself with his fellow villagers and musicians. She was indeed too focused to even notice that the piece already ended and she missed her favourite dance and piece.

But in her head, she knew that once she returned to the palace, the music and the dance won't be the only thing stuck in her mind for days on end.

Part 2

I should be studying man, but Cullen Vance's cover of Soldier, Poet, King has literally appeared in my playlist and I couldn't NOT right this. Will probably post a part two if I find the time and inspiration too, but for now this'll stay as a prompt🥲

#mha x reader royalty!au #izuku x reader #mha x reader #royalty #Spotify

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tsarisfanfiction · 1 year

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#3 (Sing A Song of Seven)

Fandom: Percy Jackson and the Olympians Rating: Gen Genre: Angst Characters: Michael Yew, Lee Fletcher, Apollo A series of Cabin Seven oneshots. This time: Funeral lament. This, apparently, is what happens when I listen to the same song on repeat, especially when one of the singers manages to completely evoke Michael when I hear him in it... (Omar Cardona, specifically his acapella singing alongside VoicePlay in The Dragonborn Comes, for the curious). It was only ever a matter of time before I started bringing some angst into this series... The song lyrics used in this are the only Ancient Greek lament I could find words to - Song of Seikilos. Reminder that there’s now a discord server for all my fics, including this one! If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<#2

It was a song every child of Apollo knew, and the song they always hoped they would never have to perform. Cabin seven had duties, responsibilities that most of the time didn’t feel too heavy, but sometimes felt like the sky crushing them beneath its inescapable weight. Their job was to be the camp’s light, to perform and amaze, to heal, and often they loved it.

But sometimes it hurt.

Traditionally, it was the responsibility of the head counsellor. Lee had sung the lament for camp more than once – quests had dried up years ago, but there were still funerals, still new campers that didn’t make it despite the healers’ best efforts, and there was always at least one every year.

Lee was a musician, a flautist first and singer second but with a voice befitting a child of Apollo regardless.

Had been a musician.

Who was supposed to sing the lament when it was their head counsellor wrapped in a golden shroud?

Michael’s throat was tight, a lump lodged in it that had materialised at the sight of crimson-streaked dark blond and hadn’t abated since. Officially, they didn’t have a head counsellor right then, too soon to even think about naming a successor, but Lee had been prodding him since the start of the summer, reminding him that it was only another year until he was off to college, and Michael knew – the whole cabin knew, if not the camp – that he was next.

In the absence of an official head counsellor, the lament could fall to any of them – the one with the best voice, the one who could hold themselves together in the face of insurmountable grief long enough to perform. They all knew Joy fit the requirements the best, the best singer in the cabin, and she’d even stepped up during the preparations, gesturing to herself with a face of fragile determination – but her eyes were filled with unshed tears, and Michael knew he couldn’t say yes, couldn’t do that to her.

Traditionally, it was the responsibility of the head counsellor. Michael wasn’t the official leader just yet, and he had never taken the limelight at campfire singalongs, not the greatest fan of singing where he could be heard despite the fact that he, too, was a son of Apollo and had a voice to match, but his siblings were crushed enough by the sudden, brutal loss of Lee (and the other deaths, yes, but it was Lee in his mind, in their minds, the brother that had always been there and whose sudden absence seared like a the first echoes of a phantom limb). He couldn’t shy away from this, push the shattering, grief-ridden, responsibility on the cabin that was now his to lead, to protect.

The son of Hades led the proceedings, dressed all in black and too young, but they were all too young. Grieving head counsellors gave short words about their fallen siblings; Michael didn’t even know what he managed to say about Lee, before Pollux fell apart trying to talk about his slain twin and the shrouds were set to torch.

No eyes were on Michael as he stepped forwards, away from the security and comfort of his siblings and into the responsibility that was the head counsellor of cabin seven’s – his, now, and it felt wrong stepping onto the same patch of bare earth he’d watched Lee take so many times, and Emily before him, but also it was for Lee, and Michael would never forgive himself if he faltered now.

No-one ever looked at the singer at a funeral. All eyes were drawn to the flames, rising higher and higher as the pyres burned, watching the final moments of bodies whose souls were long gone to Hades’ realm.

Michael knew the song. He knew the words he’d hoped to never sing, and drew in a deep breath, feeling it waver, before the words began to spill out.

Hóson zêis, phaínou Mēdèn hólōs sỳ lypoû

His voice threatened to crack, the tell-tale feeling of a break starting in the back of his throat right where the lump held fast as tears welled, determined to overflow. This was for Lee, for the first sibling he’d grown close to, for the first person that wormed his way past the terrified prickly shell of an abused child and slowly coaxed Michael into learning to trust in family again.

The break didn’t come, his voice strengthening when it should have – would have – faltered. Warmth spread across him, invisible but impossible to miss, and the feel of a weightless hand covered his shoulder.

The tears spilled down his cheek, even as his voice held steady, imbued with a strength that wasn’t his.

Pros oligon esti to zēn To telos ho chronos apaitei

It was a short lament, too short to only sing the once when there were several dead and grief prevailed across the sobbing campers. He let the last strains of the final word fade away into silence before starting it again, letting the warmth carry his voice, keeping it strong and stable even as Michael himself felt like he was falling apart.

Hóson zêis, phaínou Mēdèn hólōs sỳ lypoû

Slowly, as surreptitiously as he could manage – for how little it mattered when no-one had eyes for him, when the burning pyres drew every eye, including his own, with no remorse – his own hand crept up to the epicentre of warmth on his shoulder. It only met air, falling down on his own camp t-shirt with nothing in the way, but he’d expected that, even as it shifted until it felt like his hand, too, was being enveloped by the weightless, invisible, not-really-there one.

Pros oligon esti to zēn To telos ho chronos apaitei

Once the funeral was over, once the pyres burned to ash and nothing was left of the bodies and shrouds borne upon them, when Michael’s throat rasped from the words and tears for all that his voice kept going, his siblings would join him and all eyes would be upon them as the lament faded and songs of joy and celebration, uplifting sounds to counter the grief took their place.

Michael couldn’t spare his siblings that – it was a cabin-wide responsibility, for all that he didn’t know how they were supposed to sing of joy when their hearts had been torn in two – but at least, this time, he’d spared any of them this moment, standing alone and small against the onslaught of grief, both the camp’s and his own, fierce choking emotion.

Well, not quite alone. Michael’s hand flexed where it was encased by the comforting, supporting warmth of the sun, and stood a little straighter, head a little further back, as he repeated the lament once again.

#4>>

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson fanfiction #riordanverse #riordanverse fanfic #tsari writes fanfiction #michael yew #lee fletcher #pjo apollo #cabin seven #apollo cabin #sing a song of seven

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 11 months

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A seal-skin around my shoulders (part 6)

Elendil x Selkie!reader

NSFW! But you can skip the second section of this part without losing much.

This part is dedicated to @daeron-the-flautist

*****

The plums you are eating are tastier and juicier than ever, maybe because you are in good spirits, or maybe because you paid for them with your own coin; you also bought some bread and cheese, and a flask of light wine, all of it neatly arranged in the basket hanging from your elbow, swinging back and forth as you happily walk down the cobbled street towards the harbour. It is a sunny, warm day, one of the last before that long summer that saw your arrival in Númenor gives way to autumn, and since the stablemaster dismissed you earlier than usual today, you decided to surprise Elendil at the end of his work with the Sea Guard.

The great sails of the ships (frigates, brigantines, caravels, dinghies; thanks to your lover's teachings you can name all the types of vessels docked at the harbour) flutter in the wind against the cloudless sky. The uniform of the seamen is almost the same shade of blue of the Sea behind them; a few young men scramble to obey the orders of an officer on the bridge of one of the largest ships, learning all the naval maneuvers and the notions a future captain has to know. A few other seamen, like your lover barely older than cadets, are busy hauling a halyard or tossing heaving lines to moor the ship to the pier. A couple of them you recognize, since your lover has already introduced you to a few of his friends, but it takes you a while before you see him; finally, after a few minutes of wait you have spent munching on your plum, the seamen get into line on the bridge to be dismissed by the officer, and it is then that Elendil stands out among the others, taller and -in your opinion- undoubtedly more handsome than his comrades, his hair tossed by the wind.

A small crowd has gathered on the pier, friends and relatives waiting for the seamen, but when Elendil finally comes ashore, nimbly swinging from a thick halyard while most of the others line in front of a rope ladder, he immediately sees you, as if the harbour were empty except for you. A huge smile opens in his sun-kissed face, as he quickly moves to reach you.

"(name)." he greets you, and the way he utters your name -intimate, almost reverent, as if it were something precious to protect- never fails to make your heartbeat quicken "What are you doing here? Should you not be at the stables?"

"I was; but I finished work earlier than usual, and I thought I would surprise you." you happily explain "I brought some food, we can sit somewhere and eat before returning home."

Your plan is met with approval, and after Elendil has said goodbye to his comrades he takes the basket from your hand -"You need not worry, it is not so heavy." "I know, this is why I want to carry it."- while you link your arm to his. You take your time walking along the pier, telling each other about your day and simply enjoying that vicinity you have only experienced for a few short months, but that you both know you cannot do without. You love being in Elendil's company, even if you are not doing anything special, you reflect, because his very presence is a balm for your soul; when you are with him, you feel safe and valued, and if you were to disagree, or even to fight, about something, you know it would not affect the feelings binding you to each other. You want to be worthy of him, of the kindness and the loyalty he never ceases to treat you with, but at the same time, unlike what you felt with your past lovers or even your friends, you know you do not have to prove yourself to him, because what he gives you, he gives freely, not in return for something else; he really is the best of men, and there are so many things you love about him.

You also love him, in your heart you know for sure, and that simple feeling is enough to fill your heart with happiness and gratitude.

"There is something I wanted to talk to you about." Elendil says after you have told him about a new arrival at the stables, a huge stallion with a coat as dark as night, that only allowa the princess to ride him but haughtily lets you curry him and feed him apples.

"What is that?" you enquire... and then suddenly stop, forcing your lover to do the same.

"(name)? Is everything all right?"

You have reached the far end of the harbour, where the busy centre of the city gives way to a few less populated neighborhoods; it is a pleasant enough area, but still, you stop as if an invisible wall had forbidden you to procede.

"This way... we would reach the beach where you have met me, would we not?" you inquire, already sure of it; you feel it, as if a menancing voice were calling your name from beyond the city's high walls, threatening and at the same time mocking you, the grim memory of a treasure you have lost forever.

You had never returned to the beach, not since the night you went after discovering your seal-skin was lost forever, and you cried and cursed the Great Father, kneeling on the sand and feeling as if you had lost everything and everyone you loved. Númenor being an island, it would be impossible to avoid the Sea altogether, and at least once a week you go promenading at the harbour with Elendil, or cut through the coast to reach the palace whenever you are late for work; more than once you and your lover have even gone swimming together, playing with the waves and splashing each other like children, and then letting your skin dry under the sun as you lie on the sand, lazily kissing and looking at the clouds.

It has never bothered, or upset, you; at least, not so much that you had to find another way, or that the pleasant afternoon with Elendil was ruined by nostalgia and heartbreak. Each time is easier than the previous one, so much that you started forcing yourself to visit or at least pass through certain places that could remind you of your lost home, to heal yourself from that very sadness; until now, it has worked quite well.

But the beach... that beach... you fear it could be too big a hurdle to overcome, especially since Elendil -who you fear in the depth of his heart is not yet fully convinced of the sincerity, or rather of the depth and the resilience, of your feelings- is present and has already realized the reason for your hesitancy.

"We do not have to go there, if you would rather not." he gently reminds you "There are so many other places. We could visit the small garden near the offices of the Scribes' Guild..."

"No. There is fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I am." you answer decisively; you smile as you take his hand in yours to draw him along the way "It is a nice place, and I do not want old memories to ruin what we have. Come, you must be hungry."

Since you did not think to bring a blanket, Elendil uses his cape to protect the food and the flask from the sand; you sit side by side, your lover's arm around your shoulders as you happily eat and talk, the smell of salt in the air caressing your faces.

"You had something to tell me?"

"Oh, yes. A friend of mine has told me his mother is going to open a new shop in a few weeks." Elendil tells you "They will sell fabrics and cloths, and since my friend's mother is a capable tailor, they will probably also make bespoke clothes for clients. She will need at least one assistant, and my friend could introduce you, if you wish."

"But I already have a job." you point out, passing some bread from the basket to him. He takes it and then offers it back to you, who bite a piece directly from his hand, your lips touching his fingertips; there is something indescribably sensual in that light contact, and you see your lover smile as he cleans crumbs from your mouth with his thumb "I am busy every day at the stables already, I have no time for anything else."

"You could leave the job at the palace's stables for this; it would be better paid, and you would have more time for yourself."

The main drawback of your current job, that otherwise you generally like and even enjoy, is that it keeps you busy every day, without vacations or free days; horses must, after all, be fed and cared for daily without exception, and it has happened more than once that a soldier or a messenger had to take one without prior notice, which meant someone -namely, you- had to be there to saddle and prepare the beast for them. You enjoy spending your time with the horses, but you had reflected more than once that it would be nice to have a full day to yourself, once in a while... and not to return home every night smelling of manure.

"You think I could do it? Working in a shop, I mean."

"Why not? You have learnt to read and write flawlessly, and the shopkeeper can teach you everything you need to know, if she hires you as an apprentice. Believe me, (name); you can do everything you set your mind to."

To see him so sure of your potential warms your soul; he has nothing but your best interest at heart, because he cares for you, and also, you are sure of it, simply because he is a good man naturally inclined to help those who need it.

"I will think about it." you promise as you pass him the wine flask "If I had to work less we would have more time to spend together, and the shops in the city close early enough I could come and see you at the harbour when your work-shift ends."

Elendil smiles; it is the smile you have fallen in love with. "That would be nice." he agrees.

You and your lover take your time eating, then you walk for a while on the shore, two series of parallel footprints following you before the eternal back-and-forth of the tide cancels them. The beach is empty around you, no other citizens of Armenelos who decided to escape the bustle of the city for a tranquil stroll... and no Selkie coming out of the water to bring you home or even just make sure you are all right; you are alone, and now that you are facing it, that emptiness helps you put your heart to peace. You had not hoped, rather feared, you would feel something, a calling, a yearning, towards the place you had been born in, but you do not; you feel absolutely nothing as you contemplate the vastness of the mass of water in front of you, cold and deep and dangerous, and completely alien. You are no longer part of it, nor it of you.

You are free. For better or for worse, you are no longer a creature of the Sea, and your future is a book yet to be written.

"I am glad we came here." you confide in Elendil, and he looks at you, pleasantly surprised, and you see a weight disappear from his shoulders, a weight he had carried silently until now and whose absence fills his heart with relief.

"Are you?"

"Of course; it is a nice place. But if you are here with me, I would be happy wherever we might go."

The happiness and the harmony between the two of you is too beautiful and precious to be expressed in words, something that you never cease to marvel at; you join hands and continue your stroll, until Elendil reveals he has another matter to discuss with you, one that concerns his occupation rather than yours.

"The commander has asked for volunteers for a mission that is to leave in two days; the King is sending five hundred men to the other side of the island, where a few local lords are said to be rebelling against the crown."

Even you, who still knows next to nothing of the politics of the kingdom, understand what it means. "Do you think there will be battle?" you ask, immediately anxious; Elendil let you carry the basket, since it is empty now, and your free hand is firmly clasped in his. He mentioned the need for volunteers for the mission, and you do not need to inquire to know he has already put his name forward.

"The King will send his most capable ambassadors to try and resolve the conflict. But it is possible that the vassals decide to join forces and challenge the authority of the King, yes. They are to leave in two days."

"And you have to go?" you ask, hating how fragile your voice sounds.

Elendil does not answer; he stops and sighs, his gaze lost beyond the gentle hills surrounding the beach under a sky spleckled with red. "I am a member of the Sea Guard." he gently remind you; he is serious, though, and this is a side of him you had not seen before "Fighting has been part of my training, and part of what I have been always ready to do. I do not relish in war and bloodshed, but If I distinguish myself in this mission, the commander might recommend me for a promotion to captain."

"Which is what you want more than anything else, to have your own command and a ship to lead."

"It is, and this is why I cannot miss this opportunity. War is a terrible thing, and no one will be happier than me if a peaceful solution to the conflict is found, but if not, I will fight, to protect my kingdom and for the glory of my family. Does your..." Elendil hesitates "Do Selkie know of war?"

"We do. We do not have grand armies like your people, but sometimes tribes go into battle to conquer richer hunting grounds, or because of some perceived slight."

"Has it ever happened in your time?"

For the first time since you met him, your smile is tainted by sadness; you have never been a warrior, but that does not mean the consequences of battle have never influenced your life.

"Why do you think I was raised by my grandmother?" you point out; it is not something you are happy to talk about "And the same might happen to you."

"It might, yes."

He is so serious, so sure and determined, you know you could not change his mind even if you tried, and since it is so important for him, for his future and his honor, you cannot try, not even if every fiber of your being begs you to. He has always supported you, ever since you met; now it is your turn to do the same for him, without guilt or reproach.

"I understand." you say in the end "I... I will be worried for you; this you know. But I know this is important for you and your future, so..."

"So?"

"I do not know; you do not need my permission, or my blessing. Go and do what you deem right, and when you return, I will be there waiting for you."

He hugs you tight, wordlessly; he kisses your brow, and the words he murmurs in your ear are carried away by the wind, but you feel them nonetheless, and you kiss him to convey a promise you know you will keep until the end of the world.

*****

There is no special reason why it happens that night; it simply does. You are not thinking about the home and the friends you have lost, nor about the fact that your lover is going to leave in less than two days; there is not nostalgia in your heart, nor fear that you might lose him just like you lost your parents.

You simply want it. You want him, and you know he wants you; you have felt his hands move on your skin when he hugs you, you have seen the way his eyes follow you as you wash yourself at the basin, only a light shift covering your body. He has never told you, maybe out of shyness, maybe out of decorum, because of the unwritten rules that govern the lives of the Land-people, and that consider following one's desires, chasing one's pleasure, a sin.

Fortunately, those rules do not apply to you; or at least, you are happily capable to forget them, at least for one night.

Elendil is folding his tunic on the chair next to the bed when you reach him; he smiles, unsurprised, since while your clothes and other material possessions are still in the guest room, you have long discovered his bed is much more comfortable, or at least you are if you are sleeping next to him, your lover's arm around your waist keeping your body close to his and your cheek resting on his chest, so that you fall asleep lulled by the sound of his heartbeat, caressing the warm skin of his chest.

"Shall we go to bed? We both have to rise early tomorrow morning."

It is pleasant. Sweet. Comforting. More intimate than what you have ever experienced with anyone else, so peaceful and satisfying you often wish the dawn would never come. When you are with Elendil you feel... safe is the first word you would use, not because you have escaped some terrible danger or are hidden from enemies who could hurt you, but rather because you know nothing painful or scary can touch you as long as you are with him; truly you have never felt closer and more in harmony with anyone else, and you want to spend the rest of your life next to him.

"Yes, let us go to bed."

You want him; because you care for him, and you want to repay everything he has done for you, not out of obligation -or worse, the Great Father forbid, because he expects you to- but simply because your heart is overflowing with gratitude and the desire to make him happy... and because your very skin burns at the thought of having him inside you. He is so handsome, so strong and gentle in his daily life, and you do not doubt he will be the same in a more intimate situation. As Elendil has done with you, you have also admired his slender, athletic body, his large and callous but delicate hands -how would it be to feel them on your skin? How would it be to have them hold you by the hips as he moves above you?- his broad shoulders, the smooth and silky hair that from his chest disappear under the waistband of his trousers...

You do not know what the future holds for him, or for you; but even if you did, your decision would still stand. You have given him your heart weeks ago; tonight, you will gift him something perhaps less precious, but equally important.

You have no idea how a Land-woman would broach this subject, but Elendil knows you have been raised according to the precepts of your people, therefore you trust he will not be disappointed if your approach is different from what he could have expected... and you will do your best to make sure he appreciates the experience in any case.

As you are both still standing, you hug him from behind, grasping his shoulders as you press your body against his, feeling his warmth on your skin; you kiss his naked back, devout and loving as you want him to understand you want to be to him, and you hear, and feel, him sigh as your hands start moving on his chest, his smooth, supple skin feeling so marvelous under your fingertips, until you find his nipples, and this is when Elendil moans, his restraint already shattered after a single minute as he quickly realizes what you are offering.

"(name)..." he whispers, and no one has ever uttered your name like this, no one ever could, no one you would want to. Only him, all of him, this is what you want, and all of you is what you want him to have.

"Please, Elendil, let me. Let me make you happy."

He turns, slowly, and the way those Sea-blue eyes look at you make you shiver, with anticipation rather than fear. He does not ask if you are sure, if this is what you really want, if you are only doing because you feel you owe it to him; he cares, but he does not need to, because in that moment your heart is speaking to his without the need for words, and it is glorious, exhilarating, to realize you both feel and want the same.

You are touching him again when his mouth finds yours in a searing, blazing kiss, your hands exploring his back, his chest and any part of his body they can reach as Elendil's mouth ravishes yours, his tongue seducing your lips into granting him access; a moment later he is kissing your neck, sucking on the side of your throat, and now you are the one moaning, uncontrollably, desperately trying to press yourself against him, because you need him, you need to feel him, to feel his body against yours otherwise you will wither like a flower on the first day of winter. A well-known, but still terrible and uncontrollable heat has started roaring in your belly, and right then Elendil's thigh presses against yours, and his desire is so beautiful, so blunt and masculine and ravenous, that you would happily give in to him right now... but it is his pleasure you want to take care of, not -or rather, not immediately- yours, and this is why

"Wait." you stop him as you feel Elendil's hand slip under the skirt of your dress "Not now. I want to take care of you."

You have no need to explain yourself further, and Elendil cannot help smiling as he sees you unfastening his belt and then sliding his trousers along his legs, the skin slightly paler than that of the upper part of his body.

"Wait." he stops you in return a moment later, as he sees you kneeling, and he offers you an hand to rise again "Let us go on the bed. You will be more comfortable that way."

Your lover is beautiful in his nudity, even more than usual, and his smile is full of affection and happiness as he sits, his back to the wall, and spreads his legs to let you lie between them; his eyes shine like never before.

"You are so beautiful." he says, and those are the last intelligible words he utters for a while, apart from a few "Yes, yes!." and "Valar, (name)!" in a tone that makes you feel quite proud of yourself. You lazily caress Elendil's thigh as you suck him, his shaft the perfect size and girth for your mouth; he tastes sour, somewhat pungent, but it is sweet and pleasant nonetheless, just like the thought that very soon you will feel it inside you.

You whine when he finally asks you to stop, and Elendil laughs, taking your chin in his fingers before bending to kiss you. "It is not your pretty mouth I want to finish in, my beauty." he tells you, his lips a breath away from yours "Will you let me ravish you? Will you allow me to take you and bury myself inside you? I want to make you scream my name, and come inside you so hard we both forget where we are."

This is the same man who was too bashful to hold your hand in public in the first days of your courtship and who blushed that time the wind lifted your skirt and he accidentally caught a glimpse of your knees. You smile, and instead of speaking, you take his hands to rest them on your leg, under the hem of your dress.

"Let me be bare for you." you say, and your poor dress is almost torn from your body as Elendil seems determined to have you disrobed as soon as he can; in the end you are, and your lover sighs as he looks you over, his fingertips barely touching that skin he could only picture in his mind until now.

"You are exquisite." he whispers reverently as he opens his arms and welcomes you in his embrace; you circle his neck with your arms, and he holds your hips in his hands, possessive, reverent, delighted - everything you could ever wish for in a mate and even more "More beautiful than a Valië, the most magnificent creature in all of Arda..."

You are flattered, but there will be time for compliments; what you want right now, what you need, is to be one with him, as close physically as you already are in spirit, so interwined it will be impossible to say where one ends and the other begins.

Elendil thinks differently - or rather, his self-restraint is enough to let him savour the moment; he looks at you, pleased and excited, as you sit on his lap, and then he lowers his face on your chest.

"Oh, darling..." you sigh, and then you cannot talk anymore, because he is returning your earlier favour, stimulating your nipples with his fingertips, then with his lips... oooohh... his tongue... oh, Elendil, do not stop... and then even his teeth, delicately biting you and making your body scream with desire "Please..."

"Please what, my beauty?"

"Please take me, Elendil, I cannot... I cannot take it any longer..."

Your lover, busy sucking your breasts as if it were the last day of his life, smiles; for a moment he appears to seriously consider torturing you a little longer, but then he takes pity on you - or rather, given the way he looks at you, he wants you as much as you want him. He kisses you one last time before pulling you with him on the bed; you are lying on your back, heart hammering in your chest and at the same time the deepest and most sincere peace surrounding you, when Elendil props himself up on an arm next to your face and uses his free hand to tenderly caress your hair.

"I love you." you whisper; you told him already at the beach two hours ago, but those are words that do not lose meaning, or intensity, the more they are repeated, and as you see Elendil's eyes shine with joy just like they did then, you know they will again, and again, when you will tell him those same words in a day and a month and a year and a decade.

Which you have every intention of doing.

"I love you as well, my darling... my beautiful (name)..."

Elendil's hand leaves your hair to press the tip of his shaft between your legs; you kiss him again determined to make him realize how sure you are and how much you want him, but a moment later your breath catches in your throat as you feel him start pushing. You are wet more than enough to take him inside you, but the friction of his flesh against yours makes you tremble.

"Oooh..."

Elendil's capacity for self-restraint is considerable, but he is already tense when he starts moving inside you; he looks at you, happy and awed, and you are quite sure those same emotions are reflected in your eyes as your hands move on his body, on his skin and his soft hair, because you want all of him, you want him deeper and more completely than anyone has ever wanted their mate, having Elendil inside you and sharing your pleasure with his is not enough, you want more, you need more...

"Please..." you whisper, completely lost in the world of pleasure and sensation that has exploded all around you, and you would not be able to articulate more if it meant saving your life, but your lover seems to understand nonetheless; he smiles, ravenous like a predator that has caught the prey under him -and are you not? Have you not fallen prey of this Man, of his kindness and beauty? And are you not, unlike most preys, happy to be devoured?- and then arches his hips and pushes - a more possessive, almost brutal movement, and the muffled scream that escapes your lips is reassurance enough of how much you are enjoying his ministrations, because that first push is followed by another, equally savage, and then another -and your second scream is not muffled- and another, and another...

He is relentless. Insatiable. Tireless. His hips ram against yours, and stars appear behind your eyelids. "Mine, mine, mine." he repeats like an invocation; gone are the occasional bashfulness and the unspoken fear you would not enjoy the experience as much as him, Elendil knows how much you want him, and he has given himself permission to relinquish all control and simply feel, and relish, and he is groaning, his mouth searching and then finding yours in a new kiss, and he has never been more handsome and more perfect than now, and seeing his pleasure, so free and visceral, makes you even more desirous to live yours...

"I am yours." you whisper; you take his beautiful face in your hands, and kiss him again, biting those luscious lips you know you will never have enough of, and you hear him moan "I love you so much... take me, Elendil, do what you want with me...

And he does. Thank the Great Father, he really does, and soon you are climaxing for the first time, a violent, wondrous sensation that fills you as you are falling, you are flying, even though Elendil's arms are still possessively holding you, and he is laughing as he caresses your face.

"You are so beautiful in your pleasure." he says, his tone full of affection, and then a smirk opens on his lips "Have you had enough of me already, my beauty?"

You are quite sure you will never have enough of him, and surely you are not yet satisfied for tonight, but to express those sensations in complete sentences is beyond you at the moment, therefore you will have to show it to him. You lock gaze with your lover and

"Again." you forcefully order, lifting your legs to lock your ankles behind his hips, and he smiles; it is as if all his dreams had come true before his very eyes.

"As my lady commands."

*****

You have fallen asleep in each other's arms, murmuring words of love and promises of devotion, Elendil's hand in your hair and your cheek against his chest to listen to his heartbeat; the simple, visceral and so natural peace that often -but not always- follows intimate moments like the one you have just shared. You did not think about his imminent departure, nor about anything else; the world outside the house, outside your shared bedroom, had lost any significance. You were lost in him, and he in you, and you succumbed to the joy of his presence as you dozed off.

And then the Sea calls to you, and you awake.

Tagging as usual @starlady66 and @elvenenby.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Elendil #Elendil the Tall #Elendil x reader #Lloyd Owen #Bellona's stuff

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